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Treason Ch. 01

By: lizziebennet



I'd always known I might be arrested some day, so it wasn't entirely unexpected. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a criminal. I was doing something patriotic. But the people in charge of things disagreed. 

That can be a problem. 

In those days I was running the newspaper from a little dressmaking shop in Tull. I worked the shop in the mornings, cutting and draping and stitching gowns for Tull's most fashionable ladies, and in return I got three squares and a bed in the attic with the other two seamstresses, Elena and Tarri. Elena was working because she had been widowed, and her husband's brother had thrown her off the estate. Tarri was an irrepressibly adventurous thing of seventeen, who had run away from home with nothing but the clothes she stood up in, and was nevertheless making a life for herself with great enthusiasm. 

And then, when I wasn't working, I ran the paper. It really wasn't much, mostly just accounts of unethical behavior by government leaders, or of people being abused by those in power. An officer who raped a pretty farmgirl – a judge who took bribes – persecution of the Soralites in a border town. Many of the rural counties still held to a landowner-tenant system just one step away from fealty-and-fiefdom, and there were too many opportunities for an unscrupulous landowner to take advantage of his farmers. I didn't have a problem with our system of government. I didn't even have a problem with Lord Maven; in fact, I rather admired him. I just wanted people to have an opportunity to know about the instances of oppression around them.

That afternoon, I was delivering a draft to my printer. Well, actually, Jaki was just an journeyman printer, but Master Lacey had known my mother, and he had a bit of a revolutionary streak himself, so he turned a blind eye. Of course, the guard knew that the paper must be printed somewhere, and they watched the printshops. Fortunately, the guard did *not* know that Master Lacey had a second press in the cellar, and so Jaki practiced his trade for me by candlelight once a month.

Today, Jaki was in the back room mixing ink colors, his hands full of pots and spoons and packets of dye. Master Lacey specialized in colored woodcut printing, and Jaki was well on his way to becoming the best colorist in Tull. I put the folded draft in his apron pocket, and as I leaned forward he gave me a quick little kiss, with a wink afterwards. He never lost an opportunity to sneak a kiss. I told myself that I was far too busy to worry about a lover. And also, he was far too young. And also, it would put him in danger. And also, I didn't want to jeopardize our professional relationship.

In other words, I was close to kissing him back. I'd had lovers before, and Jaki was sweet and funny and attractive. But we hadn't quite got there yet.

"I heard about a riot in Westerville," Jaki said, stirring some blue and adding a touch of yellow. "The West Elders doubled the price of wheat, because of the shortage, but they didn't consult with the Farmers' Council. They say someone died."

"Have we heard anything about it from Cy?"

"Not yet."

"Then it can wait. We don't publish rumors. Cy will let us know if it's true."

Jaki nodded. "Just thought you'd like to know."

I leaned against the counter. "Anything new about Lord Randall?"

Jaki snorted in disgust. Lord Randall had explicitly deviant sexual tastes. Normally I wouldn't be interested in that kind of scandal, not for the paper at least, but in this case the activity was illegal as well as immoral. Girls of sixteen are one thing. Girls of eleven are quite another.

"We got two more reports that the children Mackinal bought last Friday were actually for Randall. But Damien still says he doesn't know anything about it."

"Three independent reports are good enough. And that makes four separate incidents of Randall abusing children. We can publish it next month. What's Damien doing in the capital, anyway? He hasn't sent any news our way for a good while now."

"He's busy," said Jaki shortly. I didn't push it. Damien and Jaki were cousins, and if Jaki needed to keep a secret, that was fine.

"I'd better get back," I said. "That wedding dress is due tomorrow, so it's all-hands until it's finished."

"That's been quite a project," said Jaki. "You'd better let me take you out for a celebratory dinner afterwards."

I gave him a quick smile. "We'll see."

Of course, that dinner never happened. I was arrested within the hour.

***

I'd been made before. Three times, actually. No one's perfect. But I'd always had some warning, at least enough to get out of town. This time, I didn't even hear a whisper of danger. It turned out that there was a reason for that, but I didn't find out until later.

I'd just barely got back to the shop. I came in the back way, and I was hanging up my shawl on a hook when I heard the front door slam open. There were the usual noises of feet and voices tending to a customer, and then a voice called out loudly, "I have a warrant for the arrest of Marja Pala Mansard!"

I froze. I couldn't see the officer – it must be an officer – and he couldn't see me. But I couldn't leave; if I opened the back door again, the light from the setting sun would give me away. I took a step forward.

"Don't you dare go out there!" Tarri hissed. I glanced over; she was just a few yards from me, in the back storeroom. She knew what I did after work – indeed, the whole shop did, or the arrangement wouldn't have worked. "He can't possibly know whether you're here or not. I'll tell him you're out." And indeed, she crept into the front room with a passable display of fearfulness, and stammered that Marja had gone to the market, and no one knew when she would return.

"I'm afraid I can't take your word for that," I heard, and then the singing scrape of a sword being pulled out of its scabbard, and a muffled sort of gasp from Tarri. 

"Search the building," he said, presumably to other officers. And then he called out, "And Marja, if my men find you before you show yourself, I'll slice this girl's pretty throat wide open!"

I didn't even think. I just ran into the front room, and I practically ran into the counter that divided the store from the storerooms, and I stopped there and tried to breathe, not knowing what to do next now that I'd shown myself.

This was the scene:

The officer who had spoken was standing in the middle of the room, with one hand in Tarri's hair, pulling her head back, and the other holding a sword to her throat. Tarri had her eyes closed and her hands were clenched around his wrist, her knuckles white. Irrelevantly, I noticed three stripes on his shoulder; he was a captain. Elena was standing with a customer off to one side, both frozen to the spot. At the back were two more guards.

"Come here," said the Captain. "Right now. And kneel."

The human brain doesn't like to be in terrifying situations, and it has developed lots of defense mechanisms against them. I don't remember walking forwards, past the counter. I don't remember kneeling down. I must have done it, because there I was. But the only thing I remember is a feeling that the air around me had turned to glue.

"Please let her go," I whispered.

"Funny," he said, tightening his grip, and Tarri made a little noise, "but it seems to me that I'm the one in charge here."

"Please," I said, desperately, "if you let her go, I will do anything you ask of me."

The Captain looked at me for a long moment. It was a bit of a bluff on my part, and we both knew it. I would already do anything he asked, so long as he threatened a friend of mine. It was a given that I would, eventually, comply. I was essentially offering to skip whatever battle of wills might lie ahead – giving my immediate willing compliance in exchange for her safety. 

"You will obey me, fully and completely?" he asked. "No annoying little displays of resistance to try my patience?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"If you let her go, I will obey you, fully and completely."

"Very well."

In one movement, he drew his hands away. Tarri fell to the floor, sobbing, and I dove towards her, hugging her, kissing her, trying to console her, for I was full of fear and guilt and misery that I had put her in danger. "Tarri, please, please, please know that is isn't your fault, Tarri, it isn't your fault –"

And then the Captain pulled me away from her, and I was on my knees in front of him. I looked up, and he backhanded me across the face and I fell to the floor, my head ringing. 

A set of handcuffs clattered onto the ground in front of me.

"Behind your back," he commanded. I had no intention of resisting, but I was still dazed and trying to catch my breath, so he pinned my hands behind me and clicked the cuffs into place. Then he dragged me up and pushed me against the wall. 

"Marja Pala Mansard, you are under arrest for the crimes of conspiracy and incitement to unrest." He paused a moment before adding, "and treason."

A wave of terror washed over me. Someone gasped. Treason was an awfully strong word for what I was doing. 

I must have upset somebody important.

More to the point, I was now facing something much worse than imprisonment.

"Your sentence will be pronounced by the Magistrate at the Capitol," said the Captain. He took my elbow and headed for the door, and I stumbled with him, trying not to fall. There was a carriage outside, and he threw me into it, climbed in after me, and slammed the door shut.

And that is how I was arrested for treason.

***

The carriage was wide enough to seat three, and it had two benches inside, facing each other. I worked myself into a sitting position in one corner, shaking, my hands still cuffed behind my back, the carriage swaying back and forth as we drove out of town. The Captain sat opposite me, gazing out the window. I struggled to fight my panic, but the word "treason" echoed over and over in my head.

By the time we left Tull, I had regained a little composure, at least enough that I could think, and breathe, although tears still welled up in my eyes. The Captain crossed his arms across his chest, and, catching the movement, my eyes darted in his direction.

"Feeling a little calmer?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Good. Then come here."

I must have looked confused, because he reached forward and pulled me off the seat, onto my knees on the floor of the carriage, right in front of him and pinned between his legs. He let his hands drift from my shoulders, down my body, with an appraising look in his eyes, and I suddenly realized what sort of thing was about to come next.

And I had promised to obey him. 

Shit.

"Hold still," he said. 

His thighs were pressed hard against my waist, his knees holding me tight, and my hands were helpless behind me. I wanted to throw myself away from him, I wanted to flail and thrash, I wanted to scream and sob and kick and bite, and, above all, I wanted to get away. But anything like that would only make it worse. 

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

The Captain pulled a small dagger from his boot and placed the point on my temple, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to feel it sting. I flinched. Then, with agonizing slowness, he drew the point down my face, curving around my jawline. The knife nicked my collarbone as the carriage bumped over a rock, and I gasped. The Captain waited until a line of blood had trickled down to my breasts, and then he carefully followed that line with the knife point. I was trembling with the effort of staying still.

The dress I was wearing buttoned down the front, and he began to flick the buttons off with his dagger, first one, and then the next, and then the next. Then, with a sudden movement, he pulled the dress down to my waist, ripping the fabric and pinning my elbows to my sides. Underneath I was wearing a plain white corset with a chemise underneath, with a tiny ruffle now fluttering on my breasts.

"Please don't," I pleaded as he slid his hands down my skin, cupping my breasts and pulling them up out of the corset, so that little rosebud nipples were peeking over the top of the lace. Panic was getting the better of my promise to obey, and my voice got louder as I became more frantic. "Please don't – please – please – NO!" I shrieked, trying to pull away from him. And he pinched one nipple, hard, pulling me towards him, and he leaned over me until our faces almost touched.

"Listen carefully, sweetness, because I am only going to say this once," he murmured, keeping his grip tight and painful on my nipple. "We have a few hours' journey in front of us, and you are going to do everything I tell you to, and you are going to do it with enthusiasm. You are going to do this for two reasons. Firstly, because you promised to obey me. And secondly, because if you fail to satisfy me in any particular, I will go back to your little shop and see if that girl can do it better than you."

With that, the Captain let me go, and I fell backwards against the other bench, my torn bodice around me and my breasts exposed to his commanding gaze.

"Wh-what... what do you want me to do?" I whispered, and I wasn't at all ashamed that my voice trembled.

He said, very slowly and deliberately, "I want you to caress and lick and suck my cock until I come all over your face."

I flushed with humiliation. "I don't... I don't..." I stammered.

He pulled me towards him, pinning me between his knees once again. "Unfasten my breeches."

"But, I... my hands..."

"With. Your. Teeth."

I think I let out a whimper at that point. 

He pushed my head down into his crotch, and with a little sob, I took the edge of his waistband between my teeth, and I pulled it against the top button, trying to slide the button out. I couldn't find the right angle, and I twisted and tugged at the buttonholes with my mouth and lips and teeth, crying in frustration.

And then I flushed with humiliation, because could feel him getting more and more aroused from my cheek rubbing against his cock, as my teeth bit and my tongue licked and my mouth pulled at the buttons, and I realized that I was kneeling before him, exposed to him, desperately trying to get his pants open so I could suck his cock like a whore. I'd never before felt so degraded, and I clenched my bound fists behind me in frustration even as I tugged at the buttons with my teeth.

Suddenly I caught the trick of it, and the buttons popped open, and his shaft was there in front of me, erect and hard and glistening at the tip. I hesitated, and the Captain shoved my face down, so that all at once my mouth was full of him. Choking back tears, I started to move my lips up and down along his shaft. I started slowly, until he became slick with my saliva and his own juices, and then I began working him faster, and he let out a grunt of pleasure and thrust his hips forward to meet me.

Startled, I let go of him, gasping for breath, and he slapped me, hard. "Those luscious little lips belong wrapped around me, and you can expect more of the same if they leave it again."

I bent again to my task, my ears ringing. I filled my mouth with his hot, firm flesh, rhythmically sliding my lips up and down. I fluttered my tongue around the glistening tip and ran it down the throbbing vein at the base. I licked all around to give me some moisture to work with, and then I took him into my mouth again, sucking back and forth, trying to please him, and hating myself for it. 

And then, suddenly, in a moment of eternal clarity, everything fell away from me. I was no longer Marja. The entire universe was reduced to my mouth, and his cock, and my need to bring him to climax. It was an intoxicating freedom, to know exactly what I existed for, to know that there was nothing else I had to worry about or decide, nothing else I had to take responsibility for. There was nothing but the beautifully simple task of rhythmically licking and sucking, sliding his shaft in and out of my mouth, up and down, faster and faster, and I gloried in it.

The Captain was making noise, now, little short bursts of pleasure in rhythm with my movements. His hands slid down to cup my breasts, and he caressed my nipples, rolling them between his fingers so that he gently tweaked them every time my mouth was at the base of his shaft. I gave a little moan, and let the adrenaline thrill of mixed pain and pleasure wash over me.

He began teasing my nipples faster and faster, and I sped up to keep up with him, my head bouncing up and down, my breasts slapping against his hands. With a shout of frustration or exhilaration he grabbed my head from both sides, his fingers entwined in my hair, and slammed my face into him, rapidly, over and over. His rigid cock filled me, choking me; I was gagging but I could do nothing; I could barely breathe as he forced himself deeper and deeper into my throat, faster and faster –

With a load moan he pulled out of me, and he pulled my head back, and the semen burst from him, spurting out, spilling onto me, on my face and my shoulders, and trickling down my breasts. He held me there for a long moment, breathing raggedly, his eyes closed, lost in his ecstasy. When his breathing slowed, he opened his eyes and looked at me, his hands still gripping my head. 

For a moment I felt flushed with success and I reveled in the feeling, but the trance slipped away from me and I was suffused with shame and humiliation. I was unable to wipe myself off with my hands still cuffed, my dress still shoved down to my waist, my breasts still exposed. Tears trickled down my cheeks and mingled with his cum.

"It looks good on you," he panted, releasing my head and falling backwards against the bench, so that we were not touching for the first time since the episode began. I stayed where I was, afraid to move. His eyes roved over me, assessing his handiwork. "Yes, it looks very good on you." He paused. "Lick your lips." 

I did, and my tongue encountered slick saltness, and I swallowed.

He smiled. "Good girl."

He continued to gaze at me, and I dropped my eyes. I had been so eager to please him, so passionate -- what the hell had I been thinking? I desperately wanted to cover myself.

After some time, he nudged me with a knee. "Lay down," he said.

I darted away in panic. He snorted. "You'll do what I say one way or the other, so don't fight it. Lay down, on your stomach." I complied, trembling. And then there was a click, and another click, and my hands were free, and when I scrambled up, rubbing my wrists, the Captain handed me a cloth to clean myself.

"You did well, sweetness," he murmured. 

I cleaned myself off as best I could, and rearranged my torn clothing to be as modest as I could make it. I started to sit as far away from the Captain as possible, but he asked me to come sit next to him, and as he gently stroked my shoulder I found myself relaxing into his arms. 

"What's your name?" I murmured sleepily.

He laughed softly. "Jonathan."

"Jonathan," I said, tasting the sound of it, and then I was asleep.

***

The noise of the carriage on cobblestones awoke me, and I darted into the opposite corner of the carriage, furious with myself for letting my tormenter comfort me. 

Jonathan merely chuckled. "Yes, yes, you've still got your pride. Hang on to it, sweetness, if it makes you happy." 

Then the driver banged on the roof, to tell us we'd arrived, Jonathan's face settled into a professional mask, and he was the Captain again.

"Hands behind your back," he commanded, and even his voice was different. 

I let him cuff me. There was no point in resisting. And I was filled with the leaden weight of despair. I wasn't very knowledgeable about the law, but I did know that death was a possible sentence for traitors. 

I caught his eyes. "Will they-- will they--" I asked pleadingly, unable to finish the sentence.


Treason Ch. 01-02



Chapter 1

I was getting tired of my boyfriend, but that's not why it happened. We had been living together for about two years when I noticed that he was changing before my eyes. This was five years ago and I still can't believe it. I sure didn't set out to sleep with one of his best friends. Among other things. 

Steve and I had met at a party thrown by my aunt. He was good-looking, fit and as I found out, great in the sack. He had a great sense of humor and seemed ideal. I'm sad to say that I slept with him that first night. I'm no slut, but I was horny, he was there, and you know the rest. We hit it off real well and we saw each other for a couple months before we decided to move in together. Not once did we talk about marriage. He was 23 and I was 22, so we figured we had time, and there was no rush.

Like I said, Steve was great in bed. He had a nice cock, cut, and just around 7 inches, and kind of thick. I had only slept with two other guys, so I guess he was a bit over average. But he had wonderful stamina and he always made sure I got off before he did. I loved sucking him, going all the way, and swallowing his cum, and he said he liked going down on me. After being a good girl for so long, I finally moved in with a guy and I was having sex all the time. I was getting good at it, if I may say so myself. We moved in together and had a "fucking great time". At first.

I guess you need a bit of back-ground before we get to the sex part. My name is Kit, short for Kate, short for Kathy. Back then, I was still a bit of a tomboy, about 5'5" and 123 lbs. Although I wasn't fat, I was not skinny. I had medium length brownish blonde hair, nice 38C breasts, and a flat belly, but hips a bit bigger than I wanted. (I've lost a bit since then.) I joined Steve on his slow-pitch baseball team from work, and we partied like mad nearly every weekend. It was a good life. At first. He was going to school and I had a great job as a secretary receptionist for a law firm. There was no way I was going to pay for his education without some kind of pay-back scheme, so he had a part time job and leached off his folks.

It got weird when our apartment block went condo.

There was no way we could afford to stay and so we started looking for another place. Gary, one of the guys from the ball team, mentioned that he was looking for another place, so we threw in together and I found a nice house for us. Close to the University and for Gary and I, real close to our places of work. It was two stories, with two bedrooms and a small den/office upstairs, and a semi-finished rec room in the basement. The rent was cheap because it was a bit of a dive, but we had a painting party for our team, and we had the joint looking like 'home' in no time. The three of us went to garage sales to buy furniture and we had a wonderful time. We shared all the cooking and cleaning and I managed the bills. It wasn't domestic bliss for the three of us, but it was alright.

I should describe Gary, our roommate. Ordinary. That's about it. Average height, average weight, average looks. But he was a nice guy and had a decent job as a financial planner. I guess living with us, for a long time he felt like a fifth wheel. Gary and I were having sex almost constantly, while he was really shy and hardly dated. That's not to say he was sexless. More than once, I caught him peeking down my top as I moved my Monopoly piece around the board. He'd always blush and have to go get a drink before Steve caught on. It was cute, since he came off as being so harmless. And after the house was quiet in the deep of night, I'd hear his bedsprings creaking in the room beside ours, and I'd listen to him masturbate and wonder what he was thinking about. Then, when Steve and I were having sex, I wondered if he could hear us. 

We had shared this arrangement for about 18 months when, I guess you could say, the bloom was off the rose and the passion was going, going gone. Steve started to get abusive. He never hit me, but he was cruel. We didn't stop having sex, but we didn't make love, either. The sex started to feel like he was punishing me for something. These were subtle shifts, but you other ladies out there might know what I mean. Soon, he stopped going down on me and I said fine, and stopped giving him head. Then the sex started tailing off altogether. He started spending more time at work (he waited tables at a fancy restaurant) and it felt like he was just taking me for granted.

Gary, on the other hand, was getting laid all the time. It started after our last game of the year. We had the party at our place and it was a real blast. Lots of good grass and a keg of beer. I noticed that Gary hooked up with a girl, who was an acquaintance of one of the other girls on the team. I have to admit she was quite good looking, though I had a better body. (It struck me as weird that first, I was comparing myself to her, and second, that I was feeling a twinge of jealousy. After all, it was usually my breasts that he was trying to cop a peek at.) 

Later that night as things were slowing down and thinning out, I was in the kitchen starting a clean up. One of our other team-mates came along grinning, and quietly asked if I had caught any of the action. What action, I asked, and he told me to stop by Gary's room next time I went to the upstairs bathroom. I conveniently realized that I had to pee. I tiptoed up the stairs and Gary's door was open. I carefully peeked in and I could see what that guy meant. 

All I could see in the sliver of light from the hall was her ass, and just below that, Gary's cock sliding into her soaking wet pussy. I knew I should just close the door and get out of there, but I couldn't. (This girl was riding Gary like Pollard rode Seabicuit... I loved that movie...) I couldn't see much, but I could hear plenty from the girl. There was a steady stream of "Yeah, oh yeah, fuck me good, yeah fuck, you got a nice cock for fucking, oh keep fucking me, keep fucking me..." and on and on. I just kept watching.

By the time I heard someone else coming up to use the bathroom, I realized that I had one hand down my sweatpants and the other under my sports bra, tweaking a nipple. I rushed into the bathroom and closed the door. I looked in the mirror and my face was flushed. I was ready to cum.

I had been watching my roommate, one of my boyfriend's best friends, get his ass fucked off, and it made me more horny than I had felt in ages! I didn't know what was happening to me. I didn't know whether I just wanted to keep watching or whether I wanted to join in. Steve and I never talked about stuff like that, other than the standard guy's fantasy of "wanting to see two chicks get it on". That had never appealed to me and I told him so. 

But now I wasn't so sure. What if Gary and what's-her-name had seen me and invited me in? What if I accepted? If I was touching Gary, there'd definitely be some skin to skin contact with the other girl, wouldn't there? And then it hit me. Without thinking, I had begun masturbating again, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My knees were shaking and I was cumming. I bit my lower lip and ravaged my pussy with three fingers and played my clit with my thumb. My other hand had to keep myself steady against the vanity.

It was over in a heartbeat. I had had the best cum in ages, while thinking about other people fucking and perhaps joining in. I was drunk, that was all... I told myself I was a fool, nothing like that would never happen. I quickly peed and got out of the bathroom. The guy who had been coming up the stairs was standing by Gary's door, slowly rubbing his hand across the bulge in his track pants. He looked over at me, embarrassed, and I whispered that the bathroom was free.

I nipped into my room and changed my underwear- they were drenched!- and I headed back down to the party. Maybe the guy who was watching "the show" after me, was doing what I had done. Maybe right now he was stroking his cock and thinking about Gary and what's-her-name fucking. Or maybe he was thinking about me. What if he was thinking about fucking me?

I was still kind of drunk and horny so I went looking for Steve and found him, near incoherent, in the downstairs rec-room. Nearly everyone had left by this time, so I rolled him onto the sofa, covered him with a blanket and kissed him goodnight.

I did some quick cleaning and made sure the place was locked up. I grabbed a beer for a nightcap and I went to my room. Gary's door was closed. I couldn't believe how disappointed I was.

I got undressed and lay on our bed. But sleep wasn't coming, all I could think about, was what I had seen earlier. I started playing lazily with my pussy until I couldn't take it anymore. I got up and pressed my ear to the wall separating Gary's room and ours. I couldn't hear too much, so I emptied out a bedside water glass and tried that. It was much better. I heard laughing and a few words here and there. When I heard the words 'bathroom' and 'gotta go', I sprung into action. (I would not have done this in a million years if I were sober, so, in hindsight, thanks to Budweiser.) I opened my door and waited until I heard their door. I stepped out as the same time as she did, and made it look like dumb chance. 

I wanted to see Gary's manhood. he had tried to see my boobs, so it was only fair. That's what I told myself; that I wanted to see what my roommate's penis looked like. But I think, subconsciously, I was trying to see her. And see her I did. 

She came out naked, like me, and I saw everything. We instinctively covered up, but when she saw it wasn't some guy, she relaxed and dropped her arms. I was right. Her breasts were smaller than mine, she was thinner and she didn't have much in the way of curves. Her hair was longish, and silky. She was a redhead, though I couldn't tell from her pubes. She was shaved! She had a splash of freckles across her nose, and a whole lot more across her chest. We just stood there looking at each other for a few seconds. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw her eyes flash down and check me out. Maybe she didn't, but I sure looked at her.

She smiled and said great party. I said thanks and said I was glad she was having a good time. She winked and said she was having a 'great time'. She pointed to the bathroom and told her to go ahead. She thanked me again and closed the door.

She had freckles across the small of her back, too! Just like the ones on her breasts. Those freckles! I wanted to see them up close; I wanted to count each one! With my tongue! My God! What was I doing? Was I turning lesbo? More scared about my reaction than anything, and deeply ashamed of what I had done, I ran into my room, closed the door and hid under the covers.

When I woke next morning, Gary and the girl were gone and Steve was a useless, hung over piece of crap. Nothing was mentioned about that night for a long, long time.

Chapter 2

I had made up my mind that Steve and I were done; though like a typical male, he had no idea. We argued more, and he occasionally treated me like garbage. The rest of the time he was kind of nice, like it was a habit he was trying to break. I knew he felt there was no chance I would do anything to stand up for myself- like leave.

Gary had started seeing this girl from his work, Mel, another financial planner. She was nice, they made a nice couple and it was just... nice. She was short and quite pretty, with short blonde hair in a pixie cut. She was quiet and reserved on the occasions when we partied, but I got the feeling there was a wild streak beneath the surface. No kidding. Almost immediately, she started staying over on weekends, spending what seemed like days locked in his room. I talked to Steve about it and he said it was great that Gary was getting laid, and that maybe now he wouldn't spend so much time looking at my tits.

As for Steve and me, our sex life continued downhill. I was starting to doubt myself and have some image issues. He was fucking me like I was convenient, not like he wanted to. When we did do it, I was, for the first time, thinking about other things. Among them, freckles and lost opportunities.

One Friday, Steve and I had another argument when I called him from work. He said he was going out with friends after work and wouldn't be home until late. I told him I wasn't impressed because we were supposed to be doing something together. He told me not to be such a nag and hung up on me. I was so choked! I got home from work and cooked some supper. I opened a bottle of wine and ate alone in the living room. I figured what the heck and rolled a joint, too. (I usually don't smoke or drink alone, but I was pissed off at Steve and that was my story, and I was sticking to it. He taught me to roll doobies, and it was his pot, too. All good excuses, in my book.)

About eight, the phone rang. Not caring if it was Steve or not, I answered it. The person on the other end asked for Gary and I said that he wasn't home yet. The girl, (it wasn't Melanie- I knew her voice), said never mind, she'd be over in half an hour and hung up. This was odd, but it was none of my business.

No sooner had I had hung up, than Gary and Mel walk in, and they were drunk, or close to it. They were giggling like school-kids and Gary had a dozen beer under his arm. They had stopped off at the neighborhood pub after work and had a few. They went right up to his room after putting the beer in the fridge. I didn't have a chance to say anything about the phone message.

I watched TV for a few minutes and started daydreaming about what Gary and Mel were going to be doing, while I went without. I thought it was cruel that things had come so full circle.

I was thinking about going up there and telling Gary about the mysterious phone call, (and who was I kidding, hoping I could catch another peek of his cock sliding into a girl's tight pussy) when he came down and asked if there were any messages. I told him about the one, just moments before he came in, and he seemed shocked. "She'll be here in half an hour? Holy shit..." It was like he didn't believe it. He got all red and embarrassed, and I said, kind of flirty-like, "Do you want me to send her up when she gets here?" He got even more red and embarrassed and said without thinking, no, she knows the way. I guess I looked totally shocked, for he slapped a hand over his mouth and almost ran out of the room.

I didn't know what to think.

They were going to fuck, I just knew it... This other girl was going to come over and they were going to have an orgy in my house. The first thing that leapt to mind after this realization was, why didn't they ask me?

I had had two glasses of wine with supper. I corked the bottle, and went to the fridge for a beer. I was really depressed now, and I set out to get drunk. I was flipping though channels when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there she was. The girl that Steve slept with the night of the team party. The red-head. The girl that I had drooled over in the hallway. Freckles. I was totally floored but what could I do?

I invited her in. She was smiling, sexy and confident- everything I wasn't at this point in my life. Her name was Sydney- what a great name! She said call me Syd and took off her coat. She was wearing a muslin peasant blouse and denim mini-skirt. When she shook her hair loose, her breasts wobbled freely beneath the cotton. I almost leered, but recovering, I asked if she wanted a beer. (Why I asked, I had no idea... we both knew why she was here.) 

When I came back from the kitchen, she was sitting in Steve's recliner, tilted all the way back. Her legs were slightly spread. I could see all the way up her skimpy dress. She wore nothing beneath it. I just about dropped the beer. What she putting on that show for me?

As I handed her the beer, she asked my name. I said she could call me Kate, or Kit, whatever. I sat down and took a gulp of beer and steeled my courage. "So... are you meeting Gary and Mel?" She actually blushed! It was gorgeous contrast with the freckles. Those freckles...

She smiled and said that, yeah, Mel wanted to see 'what is was like to play on the other team for a change'. She added quotation marks with her delicate hooked fingers. 

"And you...?" I stammered.

"Well, yeah, I play for 'both teams'," she said, no more than a whisper, with her little quotation mark fingers again. "Gary called to see if I wanted to join them, and I said sure. He's a good lay. You ever do it with him?" 

I almost choked on my beer. It was my turn to blush! "God, no, he's just a friend, my boyfriend's friend- we're just roommates!"

"Oh," she said, "I just thought..." and she trailed off, and looked at whatever was on the TV. 

She looked like she was in no hurry, and as host I figured I had to keep the conversation moving. "So, are you... going to go...?"

"Up there? Yeah, soon." Then the bombshell. "Why don't you join us?"

This time, I did choke on my beer. I said there was no way I could do that, Gary was my roommate, and my boyfriend would freak... all the excuses I could think of. She had been leaning back in the recliner, but she moved forward and sat up as she said, "Boyfriend? Where is he? I bet he's out with the boys and left you alone for the night."

I asked how she could possibly know that, and she said, the roach in the ashtray, the dinner plate, the empty wineglass, the beer. It didn't take Matlock to figure it out. By this time she was out of the chair and sitting down beside me. I was starting to leak at the eyes and she said that it was okay, guys can be such jerks. I had to laugh and agree or else burst into tears. She asked one more time if I would like to join them. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the gentle swell of her breast beneath the blouse. She was bra-less, I could see her nipples... and the freckles... 

Oh god, should I? I could smell her faint lemony scent and I realized that I was getting turned on... This couldn't be happening! I was looking down at my hands but when I looked back up at her to answer, her face was right there. She closed the gap and her lips touched mine. It was gentle- nothing forceful or rammy, just a feather-light touch. It was the first time I ever kissed a girl. I hadn't even done the usual experimenting with my girlfriends in high-school. I felt her tongue brush my lip and her hand came up to cup my cheek. Again- so gentle, so very gentle.

I just about melted, I was getting aroused- I could feel myself getting damp, but I pulled away and said softly, "No, I really don't think I could... but thank you."

She smiled. "No problem." Then she shrugged and said, "Well... I guess I should..." She got up and smoothed her clothes. She picked up her beer and said see ya and went up to... to, well, do whatever with Gary and Mel.

I watched her disappearing bit by bit up the stairs and I knew I should have said yes, but damn it, I was chicken. I got another beer and decided, Steve or not, that I was never going to turn down an experience like that. Ever.

Damn it! I shouldn't have smoked that pot; it always gets me horny. I clamped a lid down on my arousal. Still, part of me wanted to go up and listen to their frolic from my room, but I set out to get drunk instead.

-----

I had a good cry on the sofa, feeling so sorry for myself. The self-pity turned to red-hot anger and I cursed out Steve the asshole, and lined up everything I was going to say to him whenever he got home. He was sure in for it...

I had finished off two beers, (way over my limit), and I was feeling brave. Damn it all, I thought, Steve can go fuck himself. I was going to go up there and ask if I could join in, or at least watch... 

What was I thinking? How in heck do you invite yourself to an orgy? What if they said no? But... hadn't I been invited? Sydney did invite me! But again, deep down I was chicken. 




Treason Ch. 01-02



It's one thing to make up your mind, and another to have your mind made up for you. And, yet another thing when events conspire, and sweep you along with them.

I was trying to screw my courage to the sticking place, (doesn't that sound erotic?) when Syd came down. Her hair was a mess and I must admit, she looked well-fucked and... just beautiful. There. I said it. She was wearing Gary's housecoat. It looked great on her. She smiled and sat down on the couch beside me- not too close- and asked if I was alright. I assured her I was fine and asked how she was. She smiled broadly and said she was just great. I guess she was ashamed that she was having a great time, and I obviously wasn't, because her smile faded. She asked if I could spare a joint. I said sure, it was Steve's stash, she could smoke it all, if she wanted. We had a good laugh over that as I rolled a reefer and handed it to her. Our hands touched, albeit unnecessarily. I stammered, "We could smoke that one, if you want another to take up there..." She said that would be great, and reached for the lighter.

I rolled another and we passed the joint between us. She started to snuggle a bit closer and my heart started racing. I gathered up all my reservations and tossed them out the proverbial window. I handed her the dwindling joint and let my hand drop onto her bare thigh. She looked at my hand, then at me, and leaned in and kissed me, just a light peck. She pulled back first, and this time I leaned in and kissed her.

She pulled away again, looked in my eyes and said, "I'm only going to ask you once more. Would you like to join us?"

I nodded and said yes, and she dropped the roach into the ashtray. She stood and took my hand and said, "You're not going to regret this." I stood up, we grabbed our beer and the doobie, and she carried me away.

-----

She was still holding me by the hand as we got to the top of the stairs. Suddenly I balked, and dug in my heels. She whispered, what's wrong and I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it away and made a face. "Not properly dressed?" she asked, smiling. I nodded, mute. She asked if I had something I would rather wear, and I nodded again. I lead her into my room and told her to excuse the mess. She sat on the edge of the bed as I closed the door. 

"What's the sexiest thing you have?" she asked and I opened my "naughty drawer". I held up a baby-doll set and she made a so-so motion with her hand. Then I held up a sheer camisole and tap pant set in a silver blue shade. She said that that was a winner, what with my color, and all. I turned away to change and she asked what I was doing. I turned back, blushing. Yet I realized how silly I was being. In just a few moments, if I didn't back out, we'd all be naked... Still, I quickly changed and turned back to get her approval. She was standing right in front of me. Without a word we melted into each others arms and kissed deeply, our tongues going wild...

Finally she pulled away and looked at me. "Fuck girl," she whispered, "you are so hot!" I blushed and looked away, but she took my chin in her fingers and forced me to look at her. She continued, "I really wanted to do this that night at the party..." I giggled and confessed that I did too. I also confessed that I had never done... this- anything like this- before. She smiled and said it'd be worth the wait.

We opened the door and Syd led me across the hall to Gary's room. I was buzzed enough to be fearless, but not drunk enough to be scared out of my wits. She shhhed me, opened the door, and peeked in. "Ooooh, that looks nice- no- stay like that," she said. I couldn't see what they were doing in there, but I wanted to. "You guys mind if we have company?" I couldn't hear the reply, but she turned and smiled. Taking my hand, she led me into the dimly lit room. 

There on the bed, Gary was lying on his back with little Mel riding his cock. She was facing toward his feet and holding his ankles, rocking her hips back and forth over him. Her face was flushed, and though both of them paused as I came into the room, they didn't stop fucking- Mel looked as if she couldn't stop, even if she wanted to.

Sydney led me to the foot of the queen-size bed, I suppose so both Gary and Mel could see. I couldn't take my eyes off them, that was for sure. I had seen about two dirty movies in my whole life, but they were nothing compared to this. Mel leaned back to perpendicular and I could see her sparse blond pubes. I could see her labia wrap around Gary's cock as she lifted then lowered herself on his hardness. I looked at her and she smiled, and licked her lips ever so slightly. She brought her hands slowly up her belly, and cupped her B cup tits, pulling the long, pale nipples.

Sydney started rubbing her palms up and down my bare arms. I could barely stand it and I could feel myself creaming and blood rushing to my pussy. Neither Gary nor Mel had taken their eyes off me. Syd said, "What do you think, guys, is she fucking hot or what?" 

Gary just groaned "Oh, yeah..." and Mel nodded, glassy eyed and started fingering her glistening, pearl-like clit. "I... I want to see her tits... Let me see her tits..." 

Gary's eye's looked like they were going to pop out of his head. This was shaping up to be every man's fantasy, plus one! (It never would have reached this point if Steve hadn't pissed me off- it's a lesson for all you guys...) Gary's reaction didn't surprise me- but Mel, this was a surprise! She was a nice quiet girl, and though I knew she seemed to like sex, she was looking and sounding like a little slut. A little bisexual slut! I was almost ready to cum at this point and I realized that that's what I wanted, too. To be a little bisexual slut. I was going to wallow in it and that was that. 

Syd's hands were at my waist holding the cami, gently lifting, her hands brushing over my tits, exposing them to everyone. I honestly like my breasts. They sit nicely, they don't droop and the tips are a nice pale rose color. I like touching them when I am making love and I like it when Steve would suck them. But when Syd dropped the cami to the floor and wrapped her arms around me and touched them for the first time, it was all brand new.

I dropped my hand to her hip and touched bare, electric skin. She had shed the robe while I was otherwise occupied. Her fingers caressed and lightly tweaked my erect nipples, while her breasts pressed into my back. I grabbed her ass and pulled her into me. She nuzzled my hair out of the way and kissed my neck a million times. I could feel the heat from her pussy through the silk of my tap pants. I kept kneading her ass. She moaned...

"Here," I heard through a fog. "Over here..." It was Mel. I opened my eyes and though her position hadn't changed, Gary was behind her now, fucking her doggy-style. Syd pushed me from behind, and we stumbled forward. I was watching Gary and Mel fucking right in front of me and Syd guided me into a kneeling position on the bed, then she went around to the other side. I landed beside Gary and Mel, and our hands reached out to each other. Mel pulled me close and started sucking one of my breasts. Gary leaned over her back and started sucking the other. Syd leaned over both of them and locked her lips with mine. 

I reached under my waistband and started fingering my wet pussy. We wer all moaning and I was stroking my clit like a mad-woman. After a moment, Syd broke the kiss and said, "Take them off..." She lightly drew Gary and Mel away from my breasts, and I stood and slipped the pants off my hips. Mel watched and smiled. Syd was shaved bare, Mel's pussy hair was blonde and fine, and mine was kind of dark but trimmed short. We had all the bases covered. I got back on the bed and we melted back into our previous positions. Licking, sucking and kissing.

Gary soon backed away and pumped harder into Mel's pussy. She moaned, "Oh, yeah, yeah... On my tits..." and pulled off his shining cock. She rolled onto her back and he straddled her belly and began jerking off. Mel looked at me and hissed, "Lay down!"

I crawled down beside her, and she looped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. She gave me a quick tonguing kiss, and turned to Gary, telling him to hurry and cum. His cock was not as big as Steve's, but that didn't matter one bit! I had never been so turned on. His hand became a blur and soon, ropes of white shot out, all over her, all over me. I was frigging myself wildly as Mel did the same. As the spurts dwindled, I reached up and rubbed the last drop off the end of his cock and fed it to Mel, who licked my finger like it was the last thing on earth. Within moments of each other, Mel and I both came, too. Gary watched us masturbate together and he just groaned happily and collapsed off to the side, right into the arms of Sydney. My orgasm went on for ages... it was so powerful, it was like I blacked out...

When I opened my eyes again and became aware of where I was, and what had happened, I felt a quick stab of guilt, but it passed just as quickly. I looked over at Mel and we smiled at each other. This was bliss! She got up on one elbow and kissed me as I lay there. We were smiling and kissing and our tongues fought a happy little fight. Then she kissed and licked her way down, and sucked the streaks of her boyfriend's cum off of my heavy breasts. When she was done I pushed her back and I did the same for her. I looked up and Syd was giving Gary head, bringing his limp cock back to life. 

I was thinking to myself that I'd like some of that action when the phone rang... 



Treason Ch. 01



March 1605 

Thick, gray clouds drifted across the sky in a spectrum of black and gray hues the like of which she'd yet to discover on any artist's palette. Celeste longed to stay and indulge her passion, if not her talent, but she'd been gone far too long already. She gazed down at the stepping-stones bridging the fast moving stream and tightened her fingers about the sketchbook cradled protectively against her bosom. The water wasn't very deep. She wouldn't drown if she fell in, although that was the least of her worries. 

She'd feigned a headache and begged off attending Reverend Twisse's sermon that morning. She'd expected a lecture from her father about the value of the Puritan family, the virtue of leading a godly life and the importance of having a clear understanding of the main tenets of their Christian faith. The principles of which, her father once berated, she was yet to learn. But she'd received neither acknowledgment nor censure from him. Instead, it'd been left to their servant, Abigail, to convey her father's parting instruction that she complete her chores before his return. 

It'd been Abigail who'd ushered her—sketchbook and black chalk in hand—out the door the moment her parents' carriage trundled from sight. 

"Now, don't you worry, Miss," Abigail had said. "The animals will be fed and the rushes seen to. I'll make sure of it. It'll do you good to get out and about but mind you're back before the evening meal or you'll miss your supper. Again." 

Celeste had kissed the old servant fondly on the cheek and solemnly promised to return in good time. 

She flicked a guilty gaze to the rumbling sky. 

She hadn't kept her word but it'd hardly been her fault. She loved the early Spring—she loved being out in the open with only her thoughts to contend with. And despite the impending storm, Spring had definitely returned to Chichester creating a veritable feast for her eyes and imagination. She glanced at the sketchbook. Her modest talent didn't do justice to the South Downs but she'd found diversion and pleasure in the attempt nonetheless. And freedom. Freedom to cast off her coif and discard the lace ruff at her throat. 

She dragged the fingers of her free hand through her loosened hair. There was nothing of her mother's sobriety in her character. Her mother wouldn't have allowed the objectionable beads of perspiration to cover her brow or her hair to escape its coif in a mass of unruly tangles. Or race across fields climbing stiles and tors. 

She had tried to be a good daughter—a dutiful one. But she'd profited little from her mother's instruction or the Protestant sermons she'd been required to attend. 

"It's most unfortunate, Mistress Darwent," Reverend Twisse had remarked a week earlier to her mother but in earshot of the entire Puritan congregation. "There's nothing to be done for a child so utterly disobedient to the Lord and disordered to her parents." 

Celeste grimaced and blinked back the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She wasn't deliberately disobedient or disorderly but needlework and prayer hadn't suited her temperament anymore than her countenance lent credence to such pious pursuits. The Puritan children called her Gypsy. Whenever she would go to town they would stop playing and either surround her and stare at her or prepare to hurl mud at her. Reverend Twisse's words had merely served to fuel their antipathy. 

The rumble of thunder came again, this time a little closer. Celeste glanced at the looming sky. She wouldn't make it to Milldon House before the rain after all. She released a deep breath and clutching at the skirt of her dark blue dress started across the smooth stones. 

She cleared the remaining span of water with a final leap and landed without a sound on the opposite bank. A bolt of lightning split the darkening horizon. It flashed again across the remote landscape, illuminating the immense oak tree that marked the boundary of her father's estate. She gathered her skirts and took off at a run through the wide, verdant field toward the distant tor. 

Her breath escaped in quick, shallow rasps and her heart pounded against her ribs. She scrambled the rock-strewn slope to the top of the hill and collapsed against the gnarled trunk. The roughened bark pricked through her dress into her back and shoulders but she didn't care. She closed her eyes. 

"Good evening, Elina." 

She jerked forward with a soundless cry and dropped the sketchbook pressed to her heaving chest. Her startled gaze locked on an old hag bent almost double by the large bundle of faggots strapped to her back and who'd appeared out of the blue. Celeste inched backward and found her voice. 

"Wh-Who are you? What do you want?" 

Calm, dark eyes peered at her without fear or apology from a wrinkled face beneath a broad-brimmed straw hat tied down with a striped handkerchief and fastened under the chin. Celeste shifted uneasily. 

Gypsies had long lived in the woods on the outskirts of her father's estate but constant reminders from her mother of the consequences should she venture near the gypsy camp had kept Celeste from seeking them out. 

The gypsy stepped forward with surprising alacrity. She reached out and grasped Celeste's hands firmly within her own. 

"Don't be alarmed, little one. I've been waiting for you for sometime," she said. 

Celeste stiffened. 

Little One? Only in the confines of her dreams did a young woman come to her speaking those very words that gave her untold comfort. How could this curious old gypsy know that? She drew back and pulled her hands free. This could be nothing more than some strange and unwelcome coincidence. 

The gypsy closed the distance again. 

"It's time, Elina. Your mother wished for us to become acquainted at the right moment. And that moment is now." 

Celeste's disbelief resounded in her mind. It was unreasonable. Irrational. Absurd. How could there be such familiarity in the utterance of a name wholly not her own? She studied the black eyes staring at her with such conviction and frowned. 

"You're mistaken. My mother would never approve our meeting." 

The gypsy smiled and grabbed Celeste's hands a second time. An aura of recognition illuminated the brown-black countenance and sparked the depths of her old eyes. 

"Come. Take tea with me. It should be ready now. Besides, we have much to talk about." 

Celeste attempted to free her hands from those black as crock but found to her annoyance her fingers were caught within the gypsy's vice-like grip. 

"Why do you call me Elina? My name is not Elina—" 

A sudden gust of wind swept through her mounting tirade. With a deafening howl it swirled about her booted feet and lifted the heavy swathe of skirt about her legs with effortless ease. It blustered through the spiraling, serrated leaves dangling from the branches above and toyed with her loosened curls. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the wind died down. 

Relieved the gypsy had finally released her hold Celeste hastily brushed back the strands of hair blown across her face. She had to get home. 

"I'm sorr—" 

She spun quickly about. She stood quite alone. The old woman had vanished leaving the pile of kindling lying neatly at her feet. 

Celeste gasped as she became aware of a small, cold object in her left hand. She shifted her gaze to her balled fist and slowly unfurled her fingers. Her eyes widened at the delicate gold locket lying on her palm. Why would the gypsy leave her something so priceless? 

She raised her head and stared into the distance at the surrounding woods. Her mother wouldn't be pleased but she couldn't, in all conscience, take advantage of an old woman's mistaken memories. 

**** 

Silent shadows darted between the faint shafts of evening light trickling down to the forest floor. The patter of rain was a steady companion, although the heavy drops barely penetrated the thick canopy above. Celeste pushed on through the undergrowth. She oughtn't know this place or have any thought or memory or feeling. Yet the dense surroundings pricked with relentless familiarity at her senses, coaxing her further and deeper through the labyrinth of trees. 

Determination, however, soon waned to hope. And hope, in turn, had all but weakened to despair before she stumbled beyond the maze of trees onto a clearing lustrous in the soft glow of an enchanting white light. There were neither moon nor stars in the sky and apart from a flickering tallow flame burning in the small window of a ramshackle, bow-top wagon half-hidden among the trees, Celeste couldn't readily discern its source. 

She exhaled forcibly and tried to ignore the intense feeling of return tightening her stomach and swelling her heart. She crossed the empty clearing moving past the piebald mare grazing tirelessly on the damp grass and approached the gypsy wagon. She reached out and trailed her fingers over the dry wood. 

The once pristine colors and vibrant images had long faded to nothing. Yet vivid scenes of floral designs and gamboling hares came alive beneath her touch. She frowned her incomprehension, confused by such familiar knowledge. 

Awareness pricked at her skin and raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She whirled about, her eyes searching the darkness for those she'd sensed. She slowly backed away from the wagon and cautiously held out her hand, letting the gold locket dangle from her fingers. It glistened brightly in the iridescent light. 

"I merely wish to return what isn't mine," she said aloud. "I desire nothing more." 

"Don't be afraid, Elina. You're quite welcome here." 

Celeste pivoted at the sound of the familiar voice and then gasped in surprise. The gypsy she'd encountered beneath the oak tree stood atop the wagon's wooden steps but she was no longer bent or haggard or particularly old. 

The woman nodded with an amused smile, her eyes lambent in the luminous light. "Come," she said. "I won't hurt you." 

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the weather-beaten wagon not waiting to see if Celeste would follow. 

Celeste took a deep breath. She climbed the steps to the open doorway and hesitated briefly before pushing past the flimsy gossamer curtain hanging there. 

A swirl of thick, fragrant smoke penetrated her lungs, although it gave her no great discomfort. The gypsy beckoned her closer. Celeste stepped forward, blinking until her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. 

"You're so very much like your mother, Elina. Beautiful." 

Celeste pressed her lips tightly together. The gypsy was lacking in her senses, she was certain of it now. No one had ever complimented her on her resemblance to her mother. In fact, if anything was said, it was more often than not the painful truth of there being no remarkable similarities whatsoever. She released a weary sigh. She refused to be mystified by this gypsy or give credibility to her imaginations. 

"I don't know what you see, but you're mistaken." 

She dangled the gold locket in the feeble light. It spun and glinted between them. "I truly can't accept this." 

The gypsy stepped forward and, without looking at the locket, sidestepped Celeste and left the wagon once more. Celeste listened a moment to the articulate voice drifting in through the open door. She didn't understand or recognize the spoken dialect, but the charming vernacular kindled in her the strangest and strongest feeling of belonging that she'd ever known. 

She moved through the cramped, colorful interior heeding her curiosity and the burgeoning sense of familiarity gripping her brain. 

Her fingers brushed the beautiful tiled area behind the black iron potbelly stove and she peeked into lockers and drawers concealed beneath carved seats. She tested the richly adorned chest-high feather bed with her hands and rummaged through the cupboards beneath it. She didn't hear the gypsy return. 

"If there's something you wish to know, Elina, you need only ask." 

Celeste quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her mortification at having been caught prying heated her cheeks. 

"Forgive me," she stammered. "I...I didn't mean to...but I—" 

The gypsy held up a placating hand. "You're most welcome to look around...Miss Darwent." 

Celeste was mystified. "You know who I am?" 

"Yes. I know who you are, who you were and who you will become." 

"Now, you speak in riddles." 

"Do I? I believe I know exactly what I'm saying." 

"I mean...I don't understand." 

"Yet," the gypsy supplied. 

She stepped further into the wagon and removed two large teacups from the cupboard above the iron stove and placed them on a small table near the bed. Celeste licked her lips nervously. 

"Why did you call me, Elina, if you knew my name? Who is Elina? Do I bear her some resemblance, perhaps?" 

She frowned at the gypsy's continuing silence and firmly held out the locket. "At least tell me, did this belong to her? To Elina?" 

The gypsy took the large teapot from the stove and poured the golden liquid into the cups. She replaced the pot and then graced Celeste with a gentle look. 

"You have Lalita's eyes," she said. 

"Lalita?" Celeste queried. 

"Open the locket," the gypsy instructed. 

Hesitant, yet eager to understand, Celeste pulled open the locket and stared at the beautiful image of the woman painted within. The likeness was unmistakable—the same long dark hair and sun-kissed complexion. She sank back against the bed and expelled a sharp breath. Dare she believe what her heart already knew? Her voice was barely above an incredulous whisper. 

"My mother." 

"Yes," the gypsy said. "Lalita is my daughter." 

Celeste studied the woman, who was her grandmother, through a haze of tears. She opened her mouth to speak but the words refused to come. 

The gypsy nodded in confirmation. "I am Rafat, your grandmother." 

The candlelight flickered in the window. It disturbed the shadows on the wall, catching Celeste's eye. She stared into the sputtering flame not knowing what to say, not knowing how to respond, not knowing where to be begin. A single tear trailed down her cheek. 

"Why didn't I ever know this?" 

"You weren't ready, but you're ready now, Elina, and you're strong. You must stay strong." 

Celeste thought to hear a slight warning in her grandmother's voice but her mind did little to hold on to it. 

"Elina..." She pondered the name. 

"Lalita chose this name for you," Rafat explained. "But with a new life comes a new name." 

Her gaze fluttered upward to her grandmother's face and then down to the portrait in the locket. "You mean Mistress Darwent. Now I understand the disparity in our characters and complexion." 

She took a breath. "What happened to my mother, and where is my father?" 

"Your father loved your mother very much. It pained him to go to war leaving Lalita alone and with child." 

Rafat covered the small distance between them. "He returned five years later to find Lalita had died from a fever. Your father never recovered from his loss. Lalita's death broke his heart and mine." 

"Is my father dead, too?" 

Celeste raised her eyes at her grandmother's silence. "Is my father dead?" she asked again. 

Rafat shook her head. "No. Your father is very much alive." 

Fresh, hot tears formed against Celeste's lower lashes. "If he's not dead, then where is he? Why must I suffer the will of people who despise me when my own father is alive and well?" 

"Your father knew nothing of raising a child alone, Elina. He's a soldier and the king's courtier—" 

Her eyes widened. "A courtier? And he would leave me here?" 

Her grandmother nodded. "I believe your father thought of nothing other than your welfare, Elina. He couldn't give you the love and attention you deserved." 

"So, he left me in the care of Mistress Darwent," Celeste scathed. 

"Arthur Darwent is your father's cousin and only living relative. It was Arthur who persuaded your father to relinquish you into his wife's care for the sake of propriety—" 

Celeste half-smiled. "I see. Propriety." 

"Yes. Propriety. Your father had no wife and you needed a mother." 

"Yet, they don't care for me." 

She touched pensive fingers to her face and leveled her gaze on the benign eyes watching her. "You are my grandmother," she said. "Didn't you want me?" 

A faint smile tugged at Rafat's lips. "You are the daughter of a courtier and you have grown into the fine young lady Lalita would've wanted. Perhaps not under the ideal of circumstances but this life—" 

Rafat opened her arms, sweeping them upward to the bowed ceiling. 

"This Romany life isn't what your mother wanted for you, Elina." 

"Didn't my mother want me to be happy? All this time I had a family—" 

Celeste hung her head, fighting back the bitter taste of regret rising in her throat. Her grandmother placed a finger beneath her chin and compelled Celeste's eyes back to hers. 

"I've watched you these many years roam the hills for hours, paint your landscapes and put your thoughts to paper. You have been happy here among the flowers." 

"Yes, but my home has never felt like my home—until now. I've never felt I belonged anywhere—until now." 

She exhaled slowly. "Will you tell me the name of my father?" 

Rafat shook her head. "This is a journey you must make alone, Elina. I must not interfere in the way things must be." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

Rafat wiped the tears from Celeste's face. "I mean, for now, it's enough. It's time to rejoice for you have come back to me." 

Celeste stepped into her grandmother's waiting arms. The soothing warmth of familiar scent engulfed her and she closed her eyes. She was finally home. 

**** 

A fiery rhythm filled the night. 

She stood by the small doorway of her grandmother's horse-drawn dwelling and peeked out onto the clearing. The inhabitants of the camp had appeared and gathered around a large fire. They stamped the ground and clapped their hands in tempo with the rapid rhythm of the strummed guitarra. Their laughing faces bathed in golden firelight. 

A handsome gypsy man, spine held proudly with shoulders back and feet moving in a series of intricate steps, spun breathlessly about the incandescent flames. Firelight danced off his knee-length lacquered boots and his dark hair whipped this way and that, tangling against the glistening dampness of his bare chest. 

Celeste stepped forward enthralled by his spirited performance. She marveled at the overwhelming depth of expression etched on his burnished features. 

She belonged here among the gypsies whose array of sun-kissed complexions mirrored her own. They were her family. Her people. Even her hair spilling down her back didn't look out of place among the rich flow of waist length tresses, although she was unsure if her conviction had anything at all to do with the handsome man dancing in their midst. She curled her fingers tighter about the teacup between her hands in vain attempt to still the unfamiliar ache spiraling through her body. 

The music abruptly stilled and the exulted cries died down. 

Celeste raised her gaze and caught the sudden dark flash of the dancer's eyes. With his body poised and his strong chest rising and falling in quick succession from his exertion, he held out a hand and silently beckoned her. She shrank back into the shadows, her startled breath locked in her throat. 

Rafat murmured close to her ear. "His name is Zev. He waits for you. Go, Elina. It's time to dance." 

Celeste whipped about, spluttering her protest. "I don't know how to dance. I can't!" 

Rafat ignored her remonstration and took the teacup from between her tensed fingers. "When you dance, you must also forget the dance, Elina." 

Her grandmother spoke again in riddles. How could she forget to dance when she didn't even know how? But she didn't have time to argue the point. Rafat steered her gently through the gossamer curtain and into the bright night. 




Treason Ch. 01



Celeste emerged from the steps of the old wagon more than conscious of her new attire. The red flowing skirt caressed the entire length of her legs and she couldn't help but take inward pleasure from the strange feel of the exotic fabric fluttering against her bare skin. About her ankle a delicate chain laden with small charms—a gift from her grandmother—chimed with every step. She drew closer to the expectant faces and curious gazes resisting the urge to raise her arms and shield her naked shoulders. 

Dark, glittering eyes shone with pleasure and approval as she entered their circle and wended her way to the edge of the fire. She fidgeted with the small, gold locket about her neck, her chest rising and falling with nervous excitement. The faintest of smiles touched his lips. 

Zev gave a curt nod and the guitarra strummed once more. His feet took up the powerful rhythm, beating time with controlled, authoritative steps while his hands tapped out an altogether faster cadence. He neared her, sucking her into his aura. She kept her eyes fixed on his unable to break the spell. 

His breath caressed her cheek. His hands ceased their accompaniment and settled about her waist. She wasn't versed in the art of love or pleasing a man, yet her body needed no instruction. Something carnal, something bold flared through her veins when propriety demanded she be offended and find fault with his impudence. Censure him. Deny him. Anything but willingly crave the touch of his hands on her skin. He slipped his palm to her lower back and drew her closer, molding her to his length and holding her there. 

The sheer fabric of her bodice proved to be neither hindrance nor barrier between them. Her breasts pillowed against the muscular contour of his sweat-covered chest. She breathed in his feral scent and wondered if he would taste as intoxicating. Her cheeks heated at the thought and again the faintest of smiles hovered about his lips. 

Wrapped in his gaze and caught up in the rhythm of her heart, she lifted her arms, locking her hands about his neck. Zev ran his fingers up the length of her body and then down, trailing his palms along the outer curves of her breasts and returning them to covet the lower curves of her hips. He moved her body in time with his and she arched closer. 

She didn't know if it was wisdom coursing through her veins or the inherent legacy of an age-old tradition. Or the thought of her mother's shoes upon her feet but her soul sprang to life and knowledge flowed from her heart. She pulled from the sanctuary of his arms and found the courage to hold his gaze. She curled her lips into a confident smile and swept her leg through the air in a flourishing arc. Her skirt swished between them, challenging and flirtatious like the red apron of a bullfighter's muleta. 

She tapped time with her heel and posed her arms above her head, drawing her fingers and wrists in tight circular movements through the air. Instinct guided her as music channeled through her feet, unleashing a mysterious force that permeated her spirit and freed her soul. Graceful and lithe, proud and impassioned she danced in wild, fiery abandon. 

Zev followed her about the fire, matching her quick, light steps with his powerful ones. The yellow sash tied about her waist fluttered between them, tempting him to capture it between his fingers and pull her back within his embrace. At the final crescendo she stood aquiver in his arms. 

Her skirt had ridden high above her thighs, revealing the naked limb wrapped provocatively about his waist and imprisoning his hips against her chaste but willing body. Her fingers curled in the thick, silky feel of his hair. His hand intimately explored her smooth, exposed flesh. He bent her back over his arm, coaxing her nearer until the center of her desire pulsed against the hardened bulge between his thighs. She held on for dear life, his torso her only support. 

Their movements stilled. 

The laughter and cheers faded to a distant sprinkling of sound. She tightened her fingers in his hair overwhelmed by the raw sensations swelling her breasts and the unaccustomed warmth radiating through her body. His mouth hovered above hers. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. 

Just one taste. Just one kiss. 

"She's not for you, Zev." 

Celeste's eyes flew open. Her grandmother's quiet voice had found its way through the vacuum surrounding them. 

Zev's eyes glazed with regret. He released Celeste from his embrace and, acknowledging her with a brief nod and a soft murmur in his native tongue, turned on his heel leaving her feeling suddenly cold and empty. She stared at the rigid, powerful back disappearing with leisurely strides into the shadows and trembled. 

"Why isn't he for me?" 

Rafat bowed toward the fire and lit the thin cigarro she held between her fingers. "You have your mother in you," she said. "No one else understood the Zapateado like she did." 

Celeste didn't answer. She couldn't. But a sudden panicked shout put paid to her shameful thoughts. Her grandmother listened with grave attentiveness to the young boy who'd burst through the startled crowd toward them. 

"There are men from Milldon House in search of you in the woods," Rafat translated. 

Celeste gasped and threw her hands to her cheeks. "What have I done? If they should find me here—" She dared not think of the consequences. 

"They won't," her grandmother assured. "Come, Elina. You must hurry. Go with Taaresh. He'll show you the way home." 

The young boy nodded his understanding. 

Celeste looked across the clearing to the tall, handsome man still watching her. 

"You mustn't be sad," Rafat soothed. "It must be so. Besides, it's not written you must love the first man you meet." 

She brushed a gentle hand down Celeste's face, wiping away her tears. "I can tell you this. There's one man whom you're destined to love and call husband. And he'll share you with no one." 

"How can my destiny lie with another?" Celeste murmured. "Is my heart so easily swayed?" 

"There's no more time to explain. You must go, and go now." 

Celeste bit her bottom lip, willing it to cease trembling. There was so much more to say and so much more to know. She flew into Rafat's arms. 

"Goodbye, Grandmother. Tell Zev—" Her voice faltered. She tried desperately not to cry but her disappointment was too great. 

Her grandmother hugged her close and murmured in her native tongue. "Elina, sat sri akaal. Your journey begins tonight. You must be strong."



Treason Ch. 01



"No idea," he said, shortly. And I knew that he was no longer my ally, if indeed those few moments had meant we were allied in any way, and I had never in my life felt so alone.



Treason Ch. 02



We were in the Capitol. Jonathan was the Captain again, and it was the Captain who pushed me none-too-gently out of the carriage, and I stumbled and fell and scraped my shoulder on the pavement, and he pulled me up by my elbow and marched me into the courthouse.

I had been to the Capitol several times, but I'd never seen any of the courthouses, although I knew that each district had one. This one was an imposing stone building standing tall amongst wooden shops, with a bell tower rising high from the center. The Captain pulled me into a courtroom, and sat me on a three-legged stool in the center of the room, and fastened my cuffs to a ring at the back of the stool. Frustrated, I managed to elbow him in the leg before he stepped backwards. I wasn't planning on trying to escape, but it he didn't have to make me feel so damn helpless.

In front of me was a massive carved wooden desk -- on a platform, as though they thought the desk itself was not imposing enough -- and behind it sat a middle-aged man in a crimson robe, leafing through the papers in front of him.

"Marja Pala Mansard," he said. Apparently you get to hear your full name a lot in the criminal justice system. 

"Yes," I said. 

He had a copy of my paper in front of him, and he held it at arm's length between his thumb and forefinger, an expression of distaste on his face. "You are the person responsible for the publication of this... trash?"

My breath caught in my throat. Am I going to take a stand here, I wondered? 

"It's not trash," I heard myself saying. "Sir."

Apparently I was going to take a stand.

***

Jonathan stood in the back of the courtroom, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall, next to the bailiff. Red, who was an old friend -- they'd been at the Academy together -- gave him a sidelong glance.

"Not your job to stick around," he murmured.

"Just want to see what happens."

"So."

A pause.

"You mess her up like that?"

"Mm-hm."

"She any good?"

Jonathan merely nodded, although he could have laughed out loud. Was she any good? She had completely undone him. She had left him dizzy and gasping for breath. She had thoroughly astonished him, and he was fascinated with her.

He had meant only to amuse himself. After all, prisoners weren't really people -- they were just things, things that had ended up on the wrong side of the system, things that would soon be dead or enslaved or indentured. And being on warrant-duty was a chore, so if you arrested someone you were attracted to, anything you did on the trip back was just one of the perks of being in the Guard.

Jonathan had always been aroused by a woman kneeling before him, helpless, looking up at him with wide eyes. But he rarely played with any of the attractive women he arrested -- they were usually too frightened, or too naïve, to have any fun with. Although there had been one extraordinarily luscious girl he had picked up for counterfeiting money. He'd made her strip, slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, and she had enjoyed it as much as he did. And then he'd taken her with his clothes still on, enjoying that little thrill of power, and she'd reciprocated, riding him as hard as he rode her. That had been a good day.

But Marja! He paused for a moment, remembering her delicate little tongue sliding up and down his cock, remembering his cum slowly trickling down her breasts. There had been a moment -- he had felt it when it happened, he could pinpoint it exactly -- when she had given herself over to him. She had surrendered, fully and completely. Not everyone knew how to find that space. Not everyone was capable of finding that space. But she had given herself over to him, and it had been intoxicating. 

He could also point to the moment it had left her. He had spent himself, and flung himself back on the bench, and they had looked at each other as though their gazes were as tactile as her lips on his flesh, and he had watched the triumph fade from her eyes, and it was replaced with anger and fear and hatred and shame, and he didn't like it.

He had missed whatever else Marja had said, and the Magistrate was giving the sentence. "I pronounce you guilty on all counts. As such, your life is forfeit to the state. In view of your youth, I will not condemn you to death. However, you are to be flogged, and then sold into an indentured servitude of seven years at the public auction next week. This is so that you may productively contribute to society, and thereby make amends for your misdeeds, so far as you are able."

Marja collapsed. It looked like she had fainted. Jonathan watched silently as a couple of officers carried her out of the courtroom.

Well, it was none of his concern now.

***

Five minutes later, Jonathan strode into the clerk's office. "I want to see the records for one of the proceedings this afternoon. Mansard."

The clerk sighed with the ancient sigh that civil servants have passed down for generations. It is a weary, resigned sigh, one that says, "Let me tear myself away from my present exhausting task in order to help you with your similarly exhausting but frivolous request."

"Authorization," he said.

Jonathan put his icon on the desk.

"Congratulations. You're a Captain. That's not authorization."

Jonathan smiled, a full smile, and even Marja would have known that was dangerous. "I'm the arresting officer. And I'm taking a personal interest. And if you don't bring me those documents, I will personally break every finger on your left hand."

Shortly afterward he was sitting in a cafe across the street, leafing through Marja's file. He merely skimmed the data reports -- really? She was twenty-eight? -- and he didn't even bother with the routine forms and verifications. He was looking for something specific.

When he found it, he glanced over the headlines.

Then he went back and read the articles.

Then he read them again. Carefully.

The little bitch was good. She could gather data. She could verify data. She could write, and write well, damn her. And she could put it all together into four pages that described the worst parts of the country, the worst abuses, the most distressing and problematic situations. In fact, his little stunt in the carriage was exactly the kind of thing she'd indignantly report. She'd call it -- what was the phrase? -- "a shameful and misogynistic abuse of power."

But it wasn't treason.

***

The cell was small, and dark, and underground. A torch sputtered fitfully in the hallway, casting shadows of the bars across the room. There was a cot in one corner, and I was laying on it, hugging my knees to my chest. I wished I hadn't fainted. It was so girly. And more importantly, I had sprained my wrist against the shackles when I fell over.

For a while I had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince myself that being sold into service was better than being dead. The Magistrate might talk about contributing to society, but I was young, and female, and not unattractive. I knew what an indentured servitude would mean. 

Now I just stared at the wall, my mind blank.

I heard the door unlock behind me, and then lock again after someone entered the room. I didn't bother to see who it was. 

"You need to eat," said Jonathan. 

I turned and looked at him. He was leaning against the far wall, arms folded over his chest, and he pushed the untouched tray of food towards me with one foot.

"I'm not hungry," I said. 

I couldn't tell in the dimness, but it looked like he rolled his eyes. "I'm holding you to your promise to obey me. Eat something."

Wearily, I sat up on the cot and took a piece of bread. He waited until I had finished it. I was reaching for another -- the taste had brought my appetite back -- when he said, "Have you ever seen a public flogging?"

I froze, staring at him, and I gave a tiny shake of my head. 

"It's not pretty," he said. "It's similar to a sailor being whipped at sea. They use a cat o' nine tails with bits of shell embedded in the ends of the braids. It practically rips the flesh off your back. You may die from the loss of blood. If you don't, it will take weeks to heal, and you'll have the scars for life."

Fear and rage welled up inside me, but I was tired of feeling afraid, so I chose the anger. In one motion I jumped up, grabbed the food tray, and threw it as hard as I could in his direction. Soup and bread flew everywhere and the dishes smashed to the ground.

"How DARE you!" I screamed. "How dare you come in here and torment me? What do you want from me? Do you want me to cry, beg, grovel? You malicious bastard, I hope you rot in hell!"

I had to stop for breath there, and Jonathan just stood there blinking at me.

"It's not enough that you had to use me, humiliate me, you have to come and gloat over my punishment? Get out! GET OUT!"

But he had recovered himself by then, and he swept down on me, pushing me flat on my back on the bed, one hand covering my mouth and the other arm pinning my hands down. "You stupid little bitch, do you want everyone in the building to hear you? I am trying to help you!" he hissed. 

But my outburst had opened the floodgates, and I was crying too hard to stop. So he gathered me into his arms, and he held my head to his shoulder while I sobbed uncontrollably, letting out all the fear and frustration that had been building inside.

After a time I was able to pull myself together. I wiped my eyes and my nose on what was rapidly becoming the tattered remains of my dress, and I pushed Jonathan away resentfully.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I really am here to help you. I didn't think you'd trust me..."

"I don't trust you," I snapped.

"...and so," he continued, "I thought that you'd be more likely to come with me if you were too afraid to stay here."

I scowled. "Well, congratulations on a job well done."

He gave that almost-smile again, one corner of his mouth quirking up. Silence hung in the air for a few minutes before I had the courage to ask. 

"So. Was it all true?"

"Yes."

I shuddered, my eyes filling with tears.

"But I can help."

I looked up at him. "Explain."

"The law specifies a whipping," he said. "But it doesn't say when, or where, or how. I can have you released from jail into my custody. And I can take you somewhere else to be whipped. It still won't be pleasant..." he stopped and thought for a second and then said, "well, it probably won't be pleasant. But there won't be any blood, and you'll recover in a day or two, as opposed to weeks. You'll be whipped. You won't be flogged."

"What about . . . afterwards?"

He shook his head. "I can't do anything about that." And I closed my eyes and I let that tiny flicker of hope flutter away.

"Will you come with me?" he asked.

"Now?"

"Best get it over with."

I swallowed and nodded. 

"Very well."

He unlocked the door and I followed him up the steps at the end of the hall, blinking in the brighter torchlight, even though it was evening now and becoming dark outside. Jonathan signed for me with the officer at the front desk, who winked at him. Well, I suppose that if I were going to fuck a prisoner, I wouldn't do it in that horrible little cell either. The officer handed me a cloak from behind his desk, for which I was very grateful, as I was barely decent at this point. Then Jonathan took my elbow and we stepped out into the street.

I suppose it was only natural that my first thought would be of escape. Jonathan tightened his grip on my arm. 

"I would find you in less than two minutes. And I would be very, very angry." 

So I pushed all thoughts of freedom into the very back of my mind, and I let him lead me down the streets. After all, it wasn't as though I had anywhere to run to.

After some time, we stopped in front of an unidentified, decrepit wooden door tucked into the corner of an alleyway. 

"What sort of place is this?" I asked.

"It's a club."

"A club. Where people are whipped."

"Sometimes, yes."

"And at other times?"

"At other times, people are teased, or fucked, or spanked, or tied up, or merely made to give pleasure in a variety of ways."

Oh. That kind of club. 

I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure I can do this."

He looked down at me. "Sweetness, it really will be much better this way."

"And I suppose the fact that you're clearly going to enjoy this has nothing to do with it." I wanted to say that with icy anger but it came out as more of a pout.

Again there was the merest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Well, that's certainly an added bonus."

I sighed. "Let's go in."

***

I didn't have a clear idea of what to expect. But I certainly didn't expect a cramped little bookstore, with a very attractive but modestly-dressed woman sitting at a little table off to the side. She glanced up from her book as we entered.

"Good evening, Captain," she said.

"Delilah."

"Do you need any help?"

He took off his ring. "Just this."

She nodded, and took the ring, and returned in a moment with a collar. I wanted to back away, but the Captain's firm gaze held me in place. He was definitely the Captain again, and while Jonathan had earned a bit of trust, the Captain was still a rather frightening enigma. I kept eye contact with him while Delilah took my cloak, fastened the collar around my neck, and handed him the key. His ring was strung on a fine chain connected to both sides of the collar, and it lay nestled in the hollow at the base of my neck.

"My dress..." I murmured, trying to tuck the bodice around to cover myself. It was completely ruined, and, being a seamstress, I'd know. It was torn at several seams, and it was still stained with his semen, and it hung off one shoulder, baring my cleavage and showing half my corset and chemise.

"Leave it," he said.

"But..."

"Leave it," he commanded. "I like remembering what you did to me." I flushed and dropped my hands to my sides.

He nodded in approval. "Let's go." And taking my hand, he led me through the back of the shop down a few stairs, and into a dim passageway.

The passage turned a corner and opened into a large room. In the center of the room there was a large fire-pit, and people in various states of undress lounged around it on sofas and pillows. There were masters and mistresses, and there were slave-boys and slave-girls, but sometimes you had to look carefully to see which was which. On one settee, a girl draped in golden chains was massaging the shoulders of the woman sitting in front of her -- the woman was on the floor, and wearing a very simple gown, but it was clear that she had the power. Another woman in an elegant robe was lounging in the other corner of the couch, and she idly caressed the hair of the man who knelt at her feet. Two women were laying on the floor, kissing and cuddling and giggling, and I thought they were equals until one of them sent the other off to be punished. 

The room was roughly circular, with several mysterious hallways leading off to goodness knows where, and there were also four small alcoves. They each had a different device inside, and they were open to the room so that everyone could watch the scene taking place inside. There was a little crowd gathered around the alcove currently being used, so I couldn't see what was happening, but I heard cries of pain, and moans of pleasure, and I swallowed and tried to breathe.

At one end of the room there was a row of white marble columns, and at the top of each column there was a lamp -- a real lamp, actual electric lighting. I'd only seen power once before, so for me, this was the height of decadence.

Even more interesting, there was also a person in front of each column. Some were men, some women. They were dressed in sheer white silk, blindfolded with a white satin band, and wearing a golden collar that was hooked to a ring fastened into the marble. Their wrists were not bound, but every one of them held their hands clasped behind them, their heads tilted slightly downwards in deference, their feet in third position, like a dancer. As I watched, an older gentleman, who had been deliberating between two rather lovely specimens, made his choice. He unhooked the collar of a young, exotic-looking male, and led him down one of the hallways.

I had imagined things, the kind of things one imagines in the dead of night, but I had never thought that anything like this happened in real life.

"The ones in white belong to the club," the Captain said. "Some of them permanently, and some just for tonight. Anyone may use them." I glanced up at him in fear and he said, "Don't worry. This marks you as mine." And he caught hold of his ring around my neck and pulled me close to him.

"Afraid?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Excited?"

I blushed, which was apparently all the answer he needed. He led me to a couch near the center of the room and gently sat me down, taking for himself a chair opposite me. A girl approached us with a tray of drinks in one hand. Like the submissives chained to the columns, she was dressed in nothing but a sheer white shift that clung to her body, covering everything and revealing everything. I couldn't help staring at the way the fabric brushed across her nipples. The Captain took a glass of wine from the tray and handed it to me. "Thank you," I whispered. My mouth had gone dry. He sat forward in his chair, elbows on knees and hands clasped under his chin, watching me intently.

I took a sip of wine. "Are-- are you going to do it?"

He nodded.

"Where?" I asked, my eyes darting around the room, taking in the various means of restraint in the different corners, and all the instruments of punishment hanging on the walls.

He nodded towards one alcove in particular, where there stood a sawhorse made of dark polished wood, with rings at the sides and base, and chains hanging from the ceiling. I felt a thrill of panic.

"With what?"

"I haven't decided yet." He looked around the room, considering. "But whatever I choose, Sweetness, I'm going to mark you as mine. I'm going to lay burning red stripes all over your perfect little white ass. And at least half the people here will be watching. Bringing someone in for their first whipping is something of an event. It's like losing your virginity. And from the way you were able to suck me so beautifully, I'd say that's something you've already lost."

There were probably a hundred different responses that speech could have evoked from me, but all I could think was that Jonathan would never have said that. 

He was still watching me with that disconcerting, evaluating look. I was frightened, but I couldn't deny that it was exhilarating to be the focus of such intense attention. When he was the Captain, I could feel power and command radiate from his very presence. 

"Bryce?" the Captain called.

This was to an older, portly gentleman with the bearing of an aristocrat, standing near the fire, looking into the flames, with a boy sitting cross-legged beside him.

He turned with a genuine smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to see you, Captain," he said, walking towards us. "It's been too long." 

He gave the Captain a solid handshake before turning to look at me. "My goodness. Congratulations, my friend; she's simply exquisite." He drew one finger down my cheek until it was under my chin, and he tilted my face up to look at him. I didn't know what was expected, and I didn't want to make the Captain ashamed of me. I dropped my eyes and stayed very still. 

"Absolutely exquisite," he murmured again. "May I borrow her?"

"Actually," said the Captain, "I was hoping to borrow the Prince. She's going to be whipped, but this is her first time. I'd like him to give her her bearings."

"You're joking. She's a novice?"

"Completely and entirely."

Bryce stood back and looked at me. "One day, my dear, I'll convince your dear Captain to part with you for an evening. But for now, do please enjoy your first visit to my club." He made a small bow and walked away, pausing to send his boy -- the Prince, apparently -- in our direction.




Treason Ch. 02



Celeste scaled the honeysuckle-covered trellis to the casement window above. She smiled relieved to find it was open and made a mental note to thank Abigail for her presence of mind. The old servant knew her better than anyone. Freed from the encumbrance of weightier garments she clambered without difficulty through the small window and into the faintly lit room. 

She released a heavy sigh and stumbled through the dimness toward her bed. She threw herself down upon the goose-feathered mattress uncaring that her clothes and hair were wet from the rain. She took a moment to catch her breath. The bed wasn't very comfortable, but she wouldn't sleep tonight anyway. She couldn't sleep. Her mind was too restive and her body too inflamed, aching for a fulfillment she couldn't identify.

She rolled onto her back and stared upward into the dense blackness veiling the ceiling. Her thoughts turned to her mother and the night's other surprising revelations. She touched her fingers to the locket about her neck and absorbed the silence. Somewhere, out there, she had a father. 

The hollow sound of horses' hooves clopping over the cobbled forecourt halted her deliberations. Celeste bolted upright and scrambled from the bed. She hastened to the window. Five horsemen with torches held high had gathered below it, their cloaked figures but dark outlines in the moonlight. A slight movement drew her attention to the far side of the courtyard. It took no more than a brief moment to recognize Arthur Darwent's lean, rectangular form as he hastened toward the riders. 

Arthur Darwent's voice was low and hushed. Celeste leaned forward straining her ear to hear something of the conversation but could determine nothing comprehensible. He paced the wet, glistening stones thumping his fist time and again into the palm of his gloved hand. He suddenly stilled and then, with slow deliberation, straightened like a bird of prey sensing a quarry on the wind. In an instant he'd spun on his heels and raised his face to her window. 

Celeste scurried backward into the deep shadows of her room avoiding by a hair's breadth full contact with Arthur Darwent's gaze. Her heart somersaulted against her ribs and she pressed a hand against her chest inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves. She frowned.

Tonight wasn't the first time she'd returned late from her walks and missed supper. Never once had her tardiness given rise to such concern and yet tonight there had been horsemen in search of her.

She quickly changed her clothes and managed her hair as best she could for she daren't call Abigail for assistance. The immodesty of her attire begged for an explanation best not given. 

Duly clothed in a brown, long-sleeved dress and high-necked smock she hurried to the carved oak stairs leading from her bedroom in the east wing to the Great Hall. The booming sound of Arthur Darwent's voice resonated from the parlor and accompanied her final descent.

"If truth be told, my lady, I don't know where that girl is. She disappears for hours at a time without so much as a by your leave. A very headstrong and determined girl, you'll have your hands full with her. That, I can assure you."

Celeste moved with careful steps across the vaulted hall. She lifted the skirt of her dress in an attempt to avoid scattering the fresh layer of dried rush mats Abigail had so carefully laid out and tiptoed past the reception and dining rooms. 

A woman's voice blared from the other side of the parlor door. "That'll be quite enough, Mr. Darwent. I'll be back tomorrow. See to it the girl is found—"

Celeste raised a hand and prepared to knock. The heavy wooden door wrenched open giving her neither time nor thought to conceal her surprise or disguise the guilt flushing her cheeks at having been caught eavesdropping. An erroneous assumption, of course, but her timing had been most inopportune. The statuesque woman standing in the open doorway, however, showed no surprise at finding her there. 

Steady blue eyes raked over Celeste's face and inadequately pinned hair. The woman raised a well-shaped eyebrow. Its fair color complemented with near perfection the flaxen strands of hair feathered high upon her head and adorned with a tall, small-brimmed black hat.

"Well, well, well. Whom do we have here?" she said.

Celeste took an involuntary step backward stunned at the sight of the woman's loveliness. Her low-cut gown with rounded neckline and flawless alabaster skin were out of place in a village such as Chichester. The tight sleeves and small ruff about the woman's neck drew attention to her elegant grace. And Celeste was sure slender hands lay concealed within the bejeweled gloves resting against the richly embroidered placard. 

She shifted nervously under the relentless gaze and fought the urge to rearrange her skirt and brush her fingers down the loosened strands of hair escaping down her back. Her fingers clasped the rough fabric of her gown. Something other than the woman's critical scrutiny unsettled her. There was an intense feeling of dislike beneath the affable expression and benevolent smile. Celeste inwardly shook off this feeling. Since neither had met before it stood to reason that such resentment must be imagined. 

Arthur Darwent's countenance, however, bore the mask of his anger. He stepped from the behind the lady's rich swathe of blue brocade and broad farthingale barring his way, quickly followed by his wife, Louisa. His small eyes pinched even smaller under the black thickness of his drawn brow sparked like hot coals, although his mouth remained quite hidden behind the full tuft of hair covering his upper lip and chin. He snapped at Celeste. 

"Remember your manners, girl. Lady Bowes pays you the greatest honor tonight." 

Lady Bowes? 

Celeste flicked her widened gaze from Arthur Darwent back to Lady Bowes who regarded her with unconcealed amusement. Celeste curtseyed deeply, her mind awry in her confusion. She couldn't help but wonder the honor bestowed upon her or the happenstance that could prompt the King's mistress to visit Milldon House at so late an hour and consider her worthy of any honor at all. 

"This is our daughter, Celeste, my lady," Louisa Darwent said. 

Lady Bowes turned her attention to Celeste once more. "Do you always eavesdrop, my dear, on other people's conversations?" 

Celeste raised her eyes to the woman of whom many rumored held court in England while the King's wife, Queen Anne, kept counsel in Scotland. 

"No, my lady, I don't."

"She'll do, Mistress Darwent. Have her ready in one half hour." 

Louisa Darwent gave and answering curtsy as Lady Bowes spun away to face Arthur Darwent. 

"Come. Show me about this place," she instructed. 

Her stately steps echoed through the Great Hall and the heavy swish of her travel gown scattered the rushes across the slate floor. She ascended the stone stairs with Arthur Darwent in close attendance leaving Celeste alone with the woman she'd known and called mother these many years. 

"Where am I going?" Celeste asked. 

With barely a cursory glance in her direction Louisa Darwent turned on her heels and headed toward the carved oak staircase. Celeste followed suit, her ignorance making her brave. 

"Won't you show me some courtesy and inform me of the changes to be made to my life?" 

Still, Louisa paid her no heed. With back straight and linen-coifed head held high, she swept up the stairs and stalked through the Tapestry Gallery past the large embroidered cloths gracing the wall to the long passageway leading to the east wing, shouting for Abigail as she went. 

They arrived in Celeste's bedchamber and Louisa made her way with unyielding strides to the wardrobe standing in the corner of the room. Even without the aid of candlelight she removed garment after garment and threw them without care or attention across the goose-feathered bed. 

"Lady Bowes bestows you a great privilege," she said. 

"What privilege?"

"She seeks a Maid of Honor. Don't ask me why she chose you for I cannot for the life of me understand the choice—"

"Maid of Honor? Me?" Celeste croaked. Her chest tightened and her stomach roiled. Such a title belonged to the Queen's household.

Louisa's hands stilled. "Aren't you listening?" 

Her hands retook to their task. "I daresay there are other young ladies far more suitable to such an elevated position than you."

Celeste stepped closer to the bed and grimaced. There was very little to differentiate between the dresses. Not even in color.

"Am I to be permitted to say goodbye to my friends?"

"Stop your incessant questions child, lest Lady Bowes be obliged to take you as you are. I'll not have you bring shame upon this house or Mr. Darwent's name."

Before her brain could censure her words, Celeste's retort laced in her spite tumbled forth like that of a petulant child. 

"I needn't do as you say. Neither you nor the man who presumes to be father have any authority over me." 

Louisa's busy hands ceased their activity once more. She swirled about and faced Celeste, her eyes blazing in the pale light, her riposte at the ready. But instead of venting the anger on her lips, her retort dissolved into a slow, mocking smile. 

"So, you know. Who told you?"

Celeste exhaled a slow breath. "My...grandmother—"

"Ah...the gypsy." 

She bristled at the intentional slight, yet sadness filled her heart at Louisa's impassive and irrefutable verification of the lie that had been her life. Louisa loomed toward her, her emotions no longer concealed, her eyes piercing the distance between them. 

"For once, girl, you will obey me without question," she said. "You will go with Lady Bowes to Whitehall Palace and stay there without argument. If you don't your precious gypsy camp and all in it will be put to the torch. Do you understand?" 

Celeste nodded, her eyes wide and her throat suddenly dry. She drew back from the contempt sparking Louisa's eyes. Fear struck her heart and the need to run slammed against her ribs. But she knew she couldn't. The fate of the gypsies—the fate of her grandmother and Zev—lay in her hands. And to save them all she could do nothing other than obey Louisa Darwent's demand. 

Louisa strode to the window. A gray drizzle dulled the dusky sky. 

"Elina," she scathed. "I've always despised that name because it was your mother who chose it."

Celeste took an involuntary step forward. "You knew my mother?"

Louisa gave a derisive snort. "You came to us motherless and alone when you were no more than five years old, yet you were nothing more to me than the means to an end."

Celeste gasped. "You can't mean that."

"Can't I? Have I ever led you to believe anything different? You don't know how I've suffered these past twelve years watching you grow and become the very woman I've hated all my life."

"Hated? You hated my mother? Why?"

Louisa swirled about, her black gown sweeping the floor, her eyes swimming with angry tears. "Because your father chose that gypsy wench above me. Your mother took away the only man I've ever loved and with every breath I've cursed her for it and I will continue to curse her for it."

"And you would blame me? I was a child." 

Louisa crossed the room to where Celeste stood by the bed. "You had your mother's face even then. You were quite the little savage," she scoffed.

Celeste tried to bite back her tears but to no avail. "Why take me in if you didn't care for me?"

Louisa angled her head slightly, her face impassive. "I married Mr. Darwent to be close to your father, but you father never saw me." 

She lowered her gaze and pressed her hands against her stomach. "He never saw me," she repeated. 

Her eyes closed briefly. She drew in a deep breath and then focused sharply on Celeste's face. "You should've been mine. Claerdal Manor should've been mine. Mine," she clipped. 

Louisa pulled back, straightening her back and stretching her lips into a thin, white line. "Accept Lady Bowes' offer. There's nothing for you here. There never was." 

Claerdal Manor?

"Who is my father?" 

"I'll tell you nothing," Louisa declared. "Once, my happiness depended upon your father as yours now depends on me but I'll have my revenge and I'll tell you nothing."

Celeste expelled a weary breath, a scarce sound of sadness. Louisa had never cared for her and the cold, harsh truth of it now stung her heart. Too numb to react, she sat on the bed and hung her head. She dug her fingernails deep into the palm of her hand in a vain attempt to prevent her tears from spilling down her cheeks.

Abigail entered the room holding a lighted candle.

"I've selected a few garments for Celeste to take to London," Louisa said. "George will collect the trunk in five minutes. See to it everything is in readiness."

Abigail answered dutifully and Louisa swept from the room, her feet kicking purposefully against the heavy fabric of her dress. 

"Don't be sad, Miss," Abigail said. "It's not forever. Besides, you can always come back to visit. You'll make us jealous with your stories about London and London folk and how you love being at court. I'll wager you'll even meet the King."

Celeste raised her head and gave the old servant a shaky smile. How could Abigail know the true reason for her departure or the truth of her station, which in a matter of moments had reduced her life to nothing? 

Abigail pulled the trunk forward from the foot of the bed and set to task folding the dresses and undergarments in quick succession. Celeste rose to her feet and moved slowly to the window. She gazed out beyond the rain-filled darkness onto the countryside. The hills had always been the keeper of her thoughts and the guardian of her hopes her dreams. It pained her that she would never see the South Downs again. 

She'd hugged Abigail goodbye and promised to look after herself. From Arthur Darwent and his wife she'd received neither a smile nor good wishes. Ten minutes later she sat with Lady Bowes in her carriage on her way to London to become Maid of Honor to the King's mistress. 

It was a privilege many young ladies would welcome, yet why didn't she feel as privileged as she ought? She stared out the carriage window at the passing landscape. Her eyes rested on the tall man standing on the farthest hill, his figure outlined against the dark gray sky. Her lips whispered his name. Her grandmother had to be wrong. No other man would ever make her feel the way she'd felt in Zev's arms this night.



Treason Ch. 02



The Captain kissed me on the forehead and walked away. The Prince sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled me down from the couch to sit with him.

The Prince wasn't really a boy at all. His figure and face were youthful, but when you looked into his eyes, you knew he was an old soul, and you couldn't figure out how old he actually was at all. But dear sweet mother of the saints, he was gorgeous. He was like a child of the gods, with perfectly chiseled features, blonde hair that curled just slightly, beautiful lips that looked like he was always about to laugh. 

I didn't have a mental filter any more. I'd been through too much that day to be able to watch what I said. "You're so beautiful," I whispered.

The Prince smiled. "So they say." And he took my hands in his and gave them a friendly squeeze.

"Now. I heard the Captain say you've never been whipped before. So, what did he do with you? There must have been something, or he wouldn't have brought you here."

"Um," I said. I'm so eloquent in stressful situations. "Um. He arrested me. In Tull. And, um, while we were coming here, I was handcuffed, and he made me, um, it was a thing. There was me, and there was him, and I made him come, and that was it. And then, um, they said --" my mind shied away from the sentencing, I couldn't go there -- "but he said it wouldn't be as bad if I came here, so I came here."

"So. After the Captain arrested you, he made you suck him off. And he's going to whip you here. So that you don't have to be flogged."

I decided that the Prince was very smart, if he could figure that out from the jumble of words I'd just spilled. I nodded.

"For the Captain to have brought you here --" the Prince was choosing his words carefully -- "there must have been a moment where you, well, liked what happened in the carriage."

"Yes. There was a moment."

"How did it make you feel?"

I looked up at him. "I felt free."

The Prince smiled. "All right, Sweetness. Don't worry. You're going to be just fine.

"Now, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take you over to the whipping bench, and you're going to undress, and I'm going to tie you up. When the Captain whips you, it's going to hurt. Actually, with the Captain, it's probably going to hurt like fucking hell. And there's no safe word. You can't make it stop. You have to take it until he decides he's finished.

"But some people can find ecstasy there. So try to find the ecstasy. And even if you can't, it's far better than the alternative. All right?"

I nodded.

"So. Come with me."

We walked to the alcove and I stepped up to the bench. It was like a sawhorse -- a plank resting on two sets of triangular legs -- but the wood was dark and polished, and the plank was padded, and the legs had rings and ropes on them.

"Dress off, I think," said the Prince. "It has a nice bedraggled quality, but it'll get in the way. Corset off, too. You can leave the chemise."

I wasn't really thinking any more. I let the dress fall to the floor, and he unlaced my corset so I could slip it off. My chemise was short and sheer, and, rather irrelevantly, I wished I hadn't added that bit of lace to the hem. It seemed so out of place.

"Spread your legs," said the Prince, and I did, one foot pressed against each leg of the bench. He took the ropes fastened on each side, and he wrapped the ropes twice around each ankle before securing them to the rings on the other side of the legs.

Then he stood in front of me, with another length of rope in his hands, and he deftly wound it around my wrists, his hands making complicated knots with the ease of long practice. He connected the rope to one of the chains, and it was attached to the ceiling a little way in front of me, so that I was leaning forward over the bench, my chemise riding up so that I might as well have been wearing nothing. "If you hold on to the chain, it'll take some of the pressure off the ropes," he said, and then tightened the chain so I didn't have any slack at all. 

The Prince adjusted the electric lamp to shine even more brightly in my little alcove, and I blinked. The brightness meant that I couldn't see out into the darkness of the room beyond, but I thought I heard the noises of people gathering.

I tested the ropes. I didn't want to look like I was struggling, but I did want to know how much give I had to work with. The answer was practically none. I was strung up tightly enough that I couldn't even bend my knees, and I could only shift my hips about an inch or so against the bench. A lot of my weight was on my hip-bones and I was awfully glad for the padding, although the irony of a comfortable whipping bench was not lost on me.

This was it. This was actually happening. 

I don't know how long the Captain let me just stand there. It must have been at least ten minutes. Or maybe it was just five. My thoughts were spinning so quickly that I lost all sense of time. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang down between my arms, focusing on the feeling of the chain between my hands, the ropes around my ankles, my hips against the bench. I could almost lose myself in the peacefulness of it.

With no warning, there was a resounding smack on my right ass cheek. I squeaked and jumped, suddenly at full attention. I felt a hand massage where I'd been smacked, taking away a little of the sting.

This was it. This was actually happening.

The Captain walked around and stood in front of me. He had a paddle in one hand and a riding crop in the other. He put the riding crop in my mouth, between my teeth.

"First, the paddle," he said. "And then, when you drop it, the crop."

I shuddered all over and clenched my teeth tightly on the crop. And he walked away and I couldn't see him any more.

The paddle landed with a sharp sting, and he worked it on me evenly, first one side and then the other, in a steady rhythm. It hurt, damn him, and I let out a little cry every time it hit me. Occasionally he slapped against the tender skin of my inner thigh, exposed to him because my feet were tied so far apart, and that hurt even more. I couldn't help straining against the ropes, although I knew it was useless. And I kept the crop very firmly between my teeth.

He sped up, spanking me with the paddle both forehand and backhand, and I realized that he'd just been warming up, toying with me, even. Each individual smack was bearable, but having no time to recover between blows was torture. The pain built to a ringing crescendo. Soon I was crying, and I wanted to plead for mercy, beg him to stop, but I didn't dare try to speak for fear of dropping the riding crop. So I hung there, sobbing, as the blows from the paddle burned my backside and made my flesh feel like it was on fire.

The pain kept coming, for I don't know how long, and then suddenly, mercifully, wonderfully, he stopped. I tried to breathe, grateful beyond imagining for the reprieve. He drifted his fingernails lightly down my backside, and I jumped, startled by how delicious that touch felt on my sensitive skin. 

And then, harder than I'd thought possible, the paddle landed on my ass again, with all the force of his double-handed swing behind it, and I gave a loud cry, sobbing and crying and whimpering. I was past any thoughts of pride. I could only hold on to the chain between my hands with all my might, and endure, and hope that it might soon be over.

A few moments passed, and then a few moments more. Then there was another stinging blow, even harder than one before, and I screamed and sobbed again. This new torture was much worse than the steady spanking he'd been giving me. I was quivering with fear, close to hysterical, not knowing when the paddle would fall again. Each moment of dreadful anticipation was almost as bad as the pain itself.

Again, there was a hard, stinging blow. I let out something between a scream and a sob, I couldn't help it, it was involuntary, and the riding crop fell from my mouth onto the soft carpeting below.

Very slowly, the Captain walked around in front of me, and very slowly, he knelt and picked up the crop from the floor.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. 

"Not yet," he said. "But you will be."

I barely had time to breathe before the crop hit me, on the tender skin just above my knees. It was a different kind of pain; it hit deeper, as though it was striking me under my skin, directly on my muscles. The paddle could sting, leaving my ass throbbing with heat. The crop was going to leave welts, and bruises.

It hit me again, directly above the first blow, and then again, just above that. I realized that the Captain was going to systematically work his way from the knees upwards, and I cried, thinking of what that would mean when he got to my ass, already unbelievably sensitive from the spanking I'd just received.

It was small comfort that I could speak now. I mostly said "please, no," and "I'm sorry," in various permutations. It made no difference. I still couldn't move, and the blows still fell.

And then, right at that moment where I really, truly didn't think I could take any more, I slipped into that beautiful, peaceful space. There was nothing I could do, and that meant that I didn't have to worry any more. The pain was irrelevant. My master wanted to whip me, and he was whipping me, and everything was so beautifully simple. 

I didn't know what I was doing, although the Prince told me later that it sounded like I was at climax, and I've never yet known him to lie. I only knew that I had transcended the pain. Nothing hurt any more. The riding crop hit me again and again, and part of me knew that it was hurting, and part of me knew that I was still crying, but I only felt a sublime peace. 

Eventually the pain stopped, and someone untied my wrists and ankles, and I simply fell to the floor. I wasn't really in the real world. Someone lifted me up into his arms -- oh, it was the Captain, said the tiny bit of logic left in my head -- and he sat down and held me in his arms and I shook all over and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't even think. I just sat, shaking, as the fog in my head slowly lifted.

Eventually I realized that he was speaking. "Shh. I'm so proud of you. Everything's all right. Shh. I'm so proud of you. Everything's all right." He was saying it over and over, and I wanted to cry, I was so exhausted from that strange place I'd been to, but I couldn't stop shaking.

He carried me upstairs, out of the club, and then upstairs again past the little bookstore. He was Jonathan again. He took me into a bedroom, and he laid me down, and he laid down beside me.

"Marja," he murmured, "you are the most amazing woman I have ever met."

But I think I was asleep even before he laid me on the bed. So maybe I just imagined that.



Treason Ch. 03



Celeste was content. Although her life had indelibly changed the moment she set foot within Whitehall Palace nearly three months earlier. 

Whitehall was the King's main residence and those of his court. It was unlike anything Celeste had ever seen. The palace stretched along the Thames River for nearly half a mile and was more like a small village than a residence with its sprawling maze of buildings arranged around numerous gardens and courtyards. 

A great deal of her time had been engaged in the pursuit of learning. A dour and reserved Frenchman instructed her in the art of music. She proved to be an accomplished talent on the lute. And she received lessons in astronomy, philosophy and Latin. There remained little time over to wallow in self-pity, of which she'd been grateful. She couldn't allow herself to think about all that had gone before and all she'd lost. And yet despite her predicament, she had to admit under Lady Bowes' tutelage she wanted for nothing. 

She'd been immediately employed as go-between for Lady Bowes delivering and receiving letters to and from the French ambassador, Monsieur Guillot, who'd good-naturedly sought to recruit her services. 

"For the good of the Catholic cause," he'd once said. 

She'd refused, thinking it prudent not to develop too overt an interest in the political rivalry evident at court. She'd also reported at Lady Bowes' behest on the movements of several French Huguenot and English Protestant lords. She'd asked no questions and received no explanation. The same as when Lady Bowes had entrusted her to go to Lambeth to take delivery of a private letter. Compared to Whitehall Lambeth was marshy and undeveloped. It had taken her hours to find the modest house set back from the river. But Lady Bowes had amply rewarded her for the successful execution of these tasks. 

Whitehall Palace was riddled with secrets—secret stairs, secret rooms and secret passageways. There was, of course, a secret corridor that led from Lady Bowes' chambers to the King's private quarters. But with the help of Lady Hamilton, Lady Bowes' most senior lady-in-waiting, Celeste had fast learned them all. And when not spying on perceived enemies the court amused each other with gambling, drinking and lovemaking. If she'd been unsure of the latter, the Duke De Villiers' visit a month earlier to the rooms she shared with her companion, Anne, left Celeste in no more doubt of it but in greater appreciation of Lady Bowes' aegis. 

She'd been disturbed from sleep by hushed sounds and soft cries. The faintest glow of light had parted the shadows across the bedchamber and the rise and fall of gleaming skin had pulled her brain fully awake. The Duke De Villiers lay entwined in the naked arms of her young companion. 

At first Celeste had been startled by the strangled sound of Anne's low wailing moans but soon realized—in the way Anne clutched the duke to her breasts and lifted her bare hips to meet the downward thrust of his, arched and writhed and clawed at his back—the duke wasn't hurting her at all. On the contrary, Anne seemed to be deriving a great deal of pleasure from the slow undulating motion of the duke's hips between her eagerly spread thighs. 

Celeste had pretended to sleep. She'd stolen furtive glances from beneath lowered eyelids taking in the duke's heaving chest abrading Anne's breasts and the powerful sinews rippling down his back as he moved up and over her. His large hands caressed Anne's hair, her face and her waist—anywhere they could reach. His breath had risen heatedly in loud gasps. 

Celeste had released the air from her lungs in a long quiet breath, yet the sound had been loud enough to attract Duke De Villiers' attention for he'd ceased his movements and turned his head instantly in the direction of her bed. She'd hastily closed her eyes, sensing his searching gaze upon her shadowed face and his hesitance as he assured himself she was still asleep. She'd forced herself to breathe slow and even, although every fiber of her body had been aroused by their lustful display. 

The duke's voice had sounded again, low and tender like that of a lover. Celeste had shivered in response to the warm timbre caressing her skin. She'd peered through her lashes watching as the duke kissed Anne passionately on her brow, his body bucking between her hips. His mouth had clamped down on hers sealing the rising crescendo of Anne's breathy cries in her throat. 

A series of spasms had wracked their bodies before they collapsed breathless and spent in each other's arms. The duke had quickly extricated himself from within Anne's embrace and climbed from the bed affording Celeste a view of his still swollen appendage wet and glistening in the meager light. It's size and width had left her in no doubt as to why Anne had cried out with such intense pleasure. The duke had left through a concealed door on the other side of the room. 

For the rest of the night Celeste couldn't sleep. Her dreams had been filled with Zev naked, unbridled, and cradled between her thighs, his ardent length plunging the depths of her being in long, powerful strokes. 

She longed for no man other than Zev to quench the raging fire he'd ignited in her belly. Her grandmother had to be wrong. 

**** 

The King's mistress had rewarded Celeste's discretion and loyalty with gifts, money, gowns and an invitation to her first Masque. It would be held at Lambeth Palace in honor of Lady Bowes' forthcoming birthday. The Archbishop of Canterbury, whose residence it was, had been gracious enough to allow Lady Bowes the use of his private apartments. However, to ensure Celeste's suitability for such an elaborate engagement Lady Bowes had instructed Lady Hamilton to employ a Dancing Master—a rich, ebullient Italian—to instruct Celeste in the art of dance. 

Today, however, on the eve of the Masque, Celeste had been granted a rare hour of leisure from spying, dancing and studying. Blindfolded and playful, her arms outstretched, she stumbled about the Privy Garden in the June sunshine. She spun across the lush grass plots bumping into conical-shaped topiaried shrubs and avoiding, by the nearest of margins, statues of Eros and Hercules. And the pulpit the King had built for the sole purpose of hearing his sermons. 

She attempted to capture her companions who were doing their utmost to evade her most determined efforts with even louder shrieks of laughter and screams of delight. She lunged forward once more recognizing Anne's hushed giggles and soft swish of skirt as she ventured near. 

Anne hadn't mention the Duke De Villiers' nocturnal visits at all and Celeste didn't feel it was her place to inquire, despite rumors of his ardent pursuit of Lady Isabelle Manners. 

Celeste's name resounded abruptly across the private terrace. She wheeled about wondering at the need for such urgency and tore the blindfold from her eyes. She focused on Lady Hamilton gazing down from the Privy Gallery. Anne gave Celeste a bemused look and wished her luck. Celeste cast a fleeting glance at Lady Hamilton's stern countenance and, gathering her skirts, raced from the garden. One thing she'd learned during her stay at Whitehall Palace was Lady Hamilton didn't like to be kept waiting. 

"You have a guest," Lady Hamilton said as Celeste skidded to a halt in front of her. 

Zev. 

His name slammed into her brain. He'd finally come for her. 

She measured her breathing and clasped her hands against her stomach not daring to speak lest her voice betrayed her excitement. Lady Hamilton swept a disparaging glance over her hair and dress. 

"Well, don't you have any curiosity, girl? Wouldn't you like to know who it is?" 

Celeste bit down on her bottom lip, the threat of tears constricting her throat. So many emotions spiraled through her body. She wanted to see Zev, to be with him. 

"Yes, my lady," she managed on a nervous whisper. 

"The Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. It's rumored he seeks a wife. Well, doesn't that please you? The Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland has come to see you!" 

"I'm to be wed?" 

Celeste's heart sank. The task of finding a suitable husband had fallen to Lady Bowes but she'd not thought her unmarried status would be so promptly remedied. And what of Zev? 

She hastened with unsure steps after the matronly figure sweeping before her through the long corridor. A thousand questions swirled in her head, yet she was unable to utter a single one. Her heart fluttered in her chest with each reluctant step drawing her closer to her fate. 

She followed Lady Hamilton through the long, dark rooms and connecting chambers. Past rich, elaborate tapestries and portraits and even deeper through corridors and guarded doors where few people were allowed. And further still to Lady Bowes' private apartments where none dared venture unbidden. 

Lady Hamilton pushed open an adjoining door. "Enter. Lady Bowes is expecting you." 

Celeste swallowed uneasily, brushed a conscious hand down the low cut bodice of her gown and turned slightly to accommodate the cumbersome cartwheel farthingale about her waist. She entered the candlelit bedchamber. 

The room was dominated by a huge four poster canopied bed railed in the French manner—its frame completely hidden behind heavily embroidered fabric. Lady Bowes stood in the middle of the polished wood-paneled room her hands clasped in front of her at the waist. A well-dressed gentleman stood near the window at the other end of the room. Lady Bowes beckoned her closer. 

With a dutiful curtsy she acknowledged the man gazing upon her without expression or greeting. He was richly dressed in the King's royal colors denoting the importance of his position at court. He was handsome, too, although she would guess him more than twice her age. The Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, however, kept his counsel and didn't reciprocate her courtesy. She lowered her eyes and struggled not to fidget under the weight of his gaze. 

Please God do not let me call this man husband. 

Celeste finally met his eyes and frowned her confusion. For a man who'd wished to speak with her the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland seemed loathed to proffer any kind of civility. 

And why is there, even in its slightest measurement, recognition in his eyes? 

She didn't understand but before she could focus her attention on the latter the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland spun abruptly on his heels and fixed his gaze squarely beyond the mullion window onto the garden below. Celeste stared at the broad, ramrod straight back, bemused by the contradiction presented her. She swung her gaze to Lady Bowes, who merely said something that puzzled her even further. 

"You may return to your companions now, Celeste. Your presence has served its purpose." 

With an obedient curtsy Celeste took her leave, although not before casting a final, baffled glance at the rigid posture of the man staring out the window. There was familiarity in his stance, familiarity in his bearing and familiarity in him. She didn't understand. She pulled the door of the privy chamber closed behind her as her fingers instinctively reached to touch the small, gold locket concealed beneath her ruff. Why should she have such a strong feeling of acquaintance? 

**** 

The Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland pivoted and stared at the closed door. He expelled a soundless breath and clenched his fists tightly at his side. 

"Why is she here?" he demanded. "How did you know to find her?" 

Lady Bowes gave a nonchalant shrug of her slim shoulders. "I desired a new Maid of Honor." 

"Do not trifle with me, madam!" 

Unperturbed by his show of anger, Lady Bowes moved with leisurely steps toward a small table holding a bowl of fruit. She reached and elegant hand and plucked a grape between her fingers. 

"Your daughter was the perfect choice for the position, my lord Tredawn. And with regards to finding her, shall we say, I don't know of a single man in all London without a past he fears may be discovered. Although to learn you had a daughter, my lord, surpassed even my expectations." 

"You vile witch! What are you about? Do you honestly think you can use my daughter against me? I last saw Elina twelve years ago playing on the grounds at Milldon House. She was a little girl of no more than five years. There's nothing in me that feels for her now. We are strangers to each other. Whatever your purpose in this charade, madam, it won't succeed." 

Lady Bowes frowned. "Are you so sure of that, my lord? Is your daughter's life not worth a moment of your time?" she asked. 

Lord Tredawn strode forward. "You'd take the life of an innocent child. I am your enemy, madam." 

"I know that, my lord. And I require your loyalty or your silence. Your daughter's presence in my household, I feel, now affords me both, doesn't it?" 

"Would I have denied her existence all these years, madam, if I cared one iota for her health?" Lord Tredawn countered. 

Lady Bowes narrowed her eyes and pretended to think. "Yes, my lord, I think you would and it's precisely why you deny her now. It's because you do care." 

"Then, you're mistaken, madam." 

A ripple of laughter drifted in on the warm breeze. Lady Bowes sauntered to the window overlooking the Privy Garden, brushing past Lord Tredawn as she went. She took care to conceal her pale complexion from the harsh sunlight. 

"Perhaps I am mistaken," she owned, "and time has indeed erased a father's love for his only child." 

She inclined her head in slight acknowledgement to those playing in the gardens below but continued her address. "Your daughter is very beautiful and on the threshold of womanhood. She must yet experience life and love." 

Lady Bowes turned back to Lord Tredawn. "Would you have me test your indifference to your daughter, my lord?" 

"Why not kill me?" Lord Tredawn proffered. "Then, there would be none standing in your way." 

Lady Bowes fixed grave, determined eyes on his face. "Your death, as tempting as it is, my lord, doesn't guarantee the return of the chart in your possession, does it? And I want that chart." 

"For France?" Lord Tredawn scathed. "You cannot expect me to stand aside and watch while you and your Catholic allies deliver England on a silver platter to King Henri." 

"You needn't watch, my lord. I understand you enjoy the luxury of a beautiful estate in Cornwall. Claerdal Manor, isn't it? Retire. Go there and take your daughter with you, with my blessing. All I ask in return is the restoration of that which is mine and your given word you will not interfere." 

"You know I cannot give you my word on that, madam." 

"Very well. Then you have sealed your daughter's fate." 

Lady Bowes swept across the room to the bed and made to pull on the bell-rope dangling against the wall. 

"Stay your hand! Madam, I beseech you, stay your hand." 

Lady Bowes kept the bell-rope tight within her grasp. "Well, will you return it?" 

"Should I restore your chart, madam," Lord Tredawn reasoned, "and my daughter is safe, there's nothing to stop me speaking to the King of a Catholic conspiracy with France." 

"Of which conspiracy do you speak, my lord?" Lady Bowes queried with a slight raise of her brow. "Don't you remember? You've been wrong before." 

"Yes. Your Monsieur Guillot made sure of that. He was quite eloquent in his lies and refutation." 

"The French Ambassador merely denied what you couldn't prove. Not then and not now." 

"His lies sent three innocent English lives to the gallows, madam." 

Lady Bowes shrugged. "They were hardly innocent, my lord. Murderers, all three." 

She released the bell-rope and closed the gap between them. "Not even you would dare go to the King a second time and accuse his mistress of a conspiracy you cannot prove. What have you got when all is said and done? A piece of paper and random lines," she said. "That chart in your possession is useless in your defense, my lord, without my seal or my admission. Hearsay and conjecture are not enough for the King to sanction a war with France or take my head." 

With leisurely grace, she strolled about the room, her hands tightly clasped against the black embroidered stomacher she wore, her brow furrowed in her contemplation. 

"Perhaps I've been too harsh, my lord. Perhaps, there's no need to threaten your daughter's life since I'll wager all hope of securing her a good match rests on the wretched nature of her birth remaining undisclosed." 

Lady Bowes paused and ceased her pacing, allowing the meaning of her words to reach their mark. "Not a single gentleman of standing in all England would jeopardize his reputation to consider marriage with a gypsy, despite her beauty. Although she would, without doubt, do very well in another profession. One word in the right place, my lord, is all that it would take—" 

"What if the chart is destroyed—?" 

"Do not trifle with me, Lord Tredawn," Lady Bowes hissed. "It's a foolish man who would destroy any advantage he supposes he has. And I've never thought you a fool nor do I underestimate you. You would do well to extend me that same courtesy. Bring the chart to me within the hour or I will see to it your daughter is bedded by every man at court. Noble and servant alike." 

Lady Bowes returned to the window and gazed down into the garden. She watched Celeste's bright, laughing face. "Who will you save, my lord?" she taunted. "Your daughter or your king?" 

"The chart is not in London. I'll need three days to retrieve it," Lord Tredawn said. 

"Two days, my lord. I'll give you two days and not an hour more." 

**** 

I will save them both. 

Lord Tredawn returned to his royal apartment in the Tower torn between loyalty to his king and the love of his only daughter. His honor wouldn't allow him to sacrifice one to save the other but he'd been caught unawares. 

For weeks he'd spied on the King's Principal Secretary, Lord Salisbury, when it'd been brought to his attention that he'd met on three separate occasions with the renowned Catholic agitator Lord Robert Catesby. If, as he'd thought, it had been Lord Salisbury's intent to kill the King then there would be no doubt as to England's successor. The young Prince of Wales would prove to be a more pliable sovereign for Lord Salisbury's political interests. Until now nothing could be found to substantiate these suspicions but what a fool he'd been. 

He hurled his cloak onto a nearby table and proceeded to pace the length and breadth of his room, his booted feet stomping against the wooden floor. Lord Salisbury's furtive activities could be explained away in the interest of Protestant England but Lady Bowes was guilty of the unspeakable. She conspired with Catholic France against the throne and against England. A Catholic monarch upon England's throne couldn't be entertained but what the devil was to be done? Lady Bowes had the upper hand and one she played well. 

He was a soldier and very much a disciplined man. Death didn't frighten him in the least but the thought of his daughter being harmed alarmed him in a way he'd not thought possible. He had to speak with Elina and persuade her of her danger. 

Think. 

He removed his doublet, placard and gloves. 

Think! 

Seeing Elina and speaking with her meant telling her the truth. Elina may yet come to hate him for it but at least she would be alive to do so. 

He covered the span of the room in six lengthy strides to his writing desk and began in all haste to pen a letter. To all intents and purposes Elina was as much a stranger to him as he was to her, yet he'd not thought to know her let alone have such a strong feeling of protection toward her. He released a tight breath, easing the tension in his chest. One thing time hadn't erased and Lady Bowes guessed well was a father's love for his daughter. But he needed help if he were to succeed in keeping Elina alive. He could only hope his friend, Lord Rutherford, would avail himself of it. The letter completed, Lord Tredawn hurried to the door and ambushed a passing servant. 




Treason Ch. 03-04



This story, if you read it, should be read with chapters 1-2. It may not make sense other wise. I may write some stories that stand alone, but this one, my first, isn't one of them. Anyway, hope you like, hope you vote.

-----

I ignored the phone. I didn't hear the machine pick up the message. I didn't care, because I had more important things to do. A dam had broken and I was being washed away on a tide of great sex. It wasn't love- my relationship with my live-in boyfriend was going down the tubes and I hadn't felt love in a long while- but this was warmth and acceptance and I was ready for all I could get.

Gary was laying back against the headboard with a dazed, but happy look on his face. He had just watched his girlfriend, Melanie, lick his juices off my breasts and I did the same to her. Their other guest, Sydney, started giving mouth to cock resuscitation after his second orgasm of the night. 

The look on his face was something. I could relate to what he was thinking. This was also my first time having group sex, and it was a mind-blower!

Mel and I finished cleaning each other up, and after kissing me deeply on the mouth, she lay back and smiled, tired and contented. I leaned over and kissed her, too, but I wasn't tired. I felt like I had just got started.

She scootched over and covered herself in a blanket at the foot of the bed to watch. I crawled over to watch Syd blowing Gary. She seemed to enjoy giving head as much as I did. I rubbed her freckled backside and she looked up and smiled at me. I leaned down to kiss her too, and she lifted off his cock long enough to kiss me gently and ask how I was doing. I said I was doing just fine. She motioned down to Gary's cock and I figured why not, and leaned down and took the tip in my mouth. I ran my tongue around the head a few times, then opened up and dropped down over it, swallowing as much as I could. (I got nearly all the way down...) I went up and down a few times, and Gary hissed and arched his back, so I lifted off. He simmered back down and we all had a laugh over his reaction. 

I smiled and dragged my tits up along his body as Syd took over on his cock again. I fell into his arms and we wrapped around each other and kissed. His hand came up to caress my breasts and our tongues danced like Fred and Ginger. He held a nipple and twisted it gently, so I rubbed his pecs and did the same to him. That, combined with Syd's ministrations had him heading over the edge. 

Syd took her lips off his cock and moved to the side, stroking him slowly. She looked at me and ran her tongue over her lips. Then she looked at Gary and said, "So... are you going to fuck her, or what, Gary?" I looked at both of them, unsure. "You guys should do it," she said. "I want to watch you guys, and I want to see those tits bounce when you fuck..." I looked at Mel, wrapped in a blanket at the foot of the bed. Syd gave Mel a little shake and Mel groaned, but roused herself to a sitting position. "Whatcha say, little Mel? You wanna see that?"

Mel shed the blanket and crawled up between us. She leaned in and kissed him. "Why not," said Mel, looking over at me. "It's all he talks about... when we talk about that..."

"Are you sure?" I asked. Was I? I was about to take a huge step. I had just set myself up to fuck my boyfriend's friend, with his girl watching. It would alter Steve and Gary's friendship forever. It would alter our relationship as roommates, if it already hadn't. I had just sucked his cock and necked with him. But I was mad at Steve, and he had been a huge jerk lately. I had already made up my mind that we were through, so...

"Yeah. Go for it," Mel said. She kissed me, then got Gary to get up, so I could lay in his place. He got between my legs and I spread them wider. He lowered himself onto me, and while Sydney leaned down to suck on one of my nipples, Mel grasped his cock and directed in to my sopping pussy. I groaned out loud as she rubbed it up and down, getting it wet, hitting my clit wonderfully. She said, "Do it, Gary fuck her..." and I lifted up my pelvis and he sank down into me. I wrapped my legs around his back, and felt, for the first time in ages, a different cock fill me up. I felt so slutty and I was loving it. Mel hunched beside us, encouraging us, and Syd rubbed Gary's back with one hand, while plumbing the depths of her womanhood with her other.

I was on some kind of auto-pilot and I just gave myself up to a great fucking. Sydney was right; he was good- lots of variety in his stroke, both depth and speed. He grabbed my ass and lifted me up so Mel could slide a pillow under me. He was arching his back and aiming up into my g-spot. I spread my legs even wider for him and told him that it was so good; so good to have him fuck me. If either of us had any misgivings, they were gone. 

I looked up at Syd; she was smiling. She brought the hand she had been masturbating with, up to my face. My tongue instinctively poked out and I licked her fingers... my first taste of pussy, save my own. It was absolutely intoxicating! I can't think of any way to describe it, other than saying it was like a fine liqueur; aromatic, and slippery like syrup.

I licked all of her essence off her fingers; all that was left was a coat of my saliva when she withdrew them. She smiled at me and trailed her wet digits down Gary's back. Was she going to-?

She was! She parted his ass cheeks and started circling his back door. With Mel's encouragement, she slipped her moistened middle finger into his ass, right up to the second knuckle. Far from fighting it, Gary started moaning and pumping harder into me. He was hitting all the right spots and I was seeing stars and I was close to cumming when Syd smiled evilly and drove her finger all the way in, right up to the prostate. Him thrashing into me started a huge orgasm, which was topped by the feeling of Gary pumping a sparse, yet enjoyable load into my pussy. The room was alive with moans and cries, as two of us hit our peaks, and the other two helped us on our way with hands, lips and lots of dirty talk... 

As he came down, he leaned in and kissed me, looking satisfied and ready for more, all at once. He withdrew his dripping cock and announced that after all that, it was time for a beer. No kidding... He was done like dinner after three orgasms. His cock looked red and sore and it was a miracle that he could walk. 

Gary went to pee and get beer, and Syd went with him to wash her hands. Mel and I just lay there, exhausted. She curled up beside me and gave me a hug. She asked how I was doing, and I said I hadn't felt as good for a long time. I did tell her that I was feeling kind of guilty and she asked why, for heaven's sake. After all, she knew as well as anyone that Steve was being a jerk lately. I told her that I was kind of uncomfortable after the fact, so she sat up cross-legged (what a view!) and told me how it all happened for them, as if it would ease my mind... (While she told the story she absently ran her hand over my slit, searching out the cum that Gary had deposited, rubbing it gently into my pubes and thighs and belly, and licking the odd drop off her fingers.)

She said that Gary and her had advanced fairly quickly after meeting, to having sex. They realized they really liked each other and decided to be totally open with each other about their sexual histories. (Hers was really wild, but that's another story for a different day...) They wanted to experience as much as they could together. 

Gary had told her about his wild night with Sydney after the ball team party, and how Syd had talked about seeing me naked after she came back from the bathroom. (Me!) She said how hot it would be if they had a threesome, and Gary went wild, because he always thought I was really sexy. They even went so far as to see if my door was open, but I had closed it. (Too bad in hindsight, but for all my fantasizing, I probably would have freaked out at that point in my life...)

Mel kind of blushed and said that all the talk about a possible threesome between me, Gary and Sydney had turned her on. Gary and Mel talked about having one with them and me, but since we were roommates, it was vetoed. Besides, there was Steve to think about. They started renting movies with threesomes. Mel pointed to Gary's portable TV and VCR, and sure enough, there was a pile of black rental boxes beside it. 

So anyway, said Mel, this afternoon after work, they had gone out and had a few drinks. That always got her horny, said Mel. She asked again about a threesome with me (Me!) but Gary said no. They batted around different ideas, until they hit on asking Sydney. The relationship between Gary and Sydney had overlapped their own, said Mel, and the two women even vaguely knew each other. Gary said fine- that would be wonderful- and went to call her to see if she was interested.

Well, she was interested- and here we were! Guilt and all!

Mel gave me a gentle kiss and said that everything was fine. She had had lots of sexual escapades in her life. She confessed to being a bit of a "wild child", in her younger years. But all in all, this experience was right up there. So, I should just relax and enjoy it as much as they were, and forget the guilt. 

Then she leaned in, smiled and said, "Too bad that Steve's such a stick in the mud." I must have looked puzzled. "Sure," she said. "Not only would I like to jump his bones, but..." (she leaned in and whispered) "I really want to see Gary go down on another guy. And he wants to do it, too. Probably won't be Steve, but some guy... some day."

It was a damned good thing that I was lying down, because I would have been flat on my butt after hearing that.

Chapter 04

I needed to get out of there. Part of me immediately pictured Gary sucking Steve's cock while I watched and cheered him on, and part of me was just appalled. But, it sure made me think! Weren't threesomes was always MFF?- never MFM... I had to get out of there!

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking for my things, but then Gary and Syd came in, carrying refreshments for everybody. Gary had a totally strange look on his face when he looked at me. I took a beer from him, and he said that there was a message on the answering machine for me. (Apparently we didn't hear the second time the phone rang. No wonder.) I didn't say anything, and Gary said it was from Steve. I sighed and excused myself. Syd said to come back soon. I went to my room and got my robe and went down to hear what the asshole had to say. 

It was nothing special. He said he'd be home by 11 o'clock (it was ten to ten at that point) and he apologized, if you can believe it, for being an asshole, earlier! Well, that wasn't going to change the fact that had just had a great roll in the hay with his friend, his friend's girlfriend, and a gorgeous stray red-head. But, I knew my night was done. 

I told the others that my boyfriend was coming home, and that I should clean myself up and get ready for his return. They said that that was too bad. I thanked them for the lovely time and asked that they not say anything to Steve about... well, anything. They looked as sad as I felt, and they waved goodbye as I closed the door.

I turned on the shower and tested the water. I climbed in and began washing all the wonderful scents and textures off of me. Gary's dried cum, Syd's pussy juice and Mel's kisses- all went down the drain, to my dismay. 

I was right under the shower-head, washing my hair and I didn't even feel the shower curtain open. I did feel a pair of hands on my lower back, and jumped with the shock of it. "Relax," said Syd. "It's alright." I did relax and her hands came around to cup my breasts. I brought my arms down from where they were, and trapped her hands, caressing my tits lovingly.

"I have a plan," she said.

-----

It was a good plan. She played Steve like a largemouth bass. She led him by his little dinky like he was a pull-toy. I could go on but you get the picture.

We quickly washed up, with hardly any groping and kissing. Well, some... but not as much as I wanted! I went to my room and got dressed in another sort of sexy nightie, curled up on the bed and waited for Steve to come home. 

I heard how it all happened, later from Marc and Sydney.

(Who is Marc? Well he was the wild card, When he tagged along with Steve that night, it could have ruined everything, but he turned out to be the totally unexpected icing on the cake. Here's what happened...)

When Sydney heard the door unlock, she was ready. She heard footsteps in the living room and she came down the stairs dressed in Gary's robe carrying a couple empties. When she saw Steve, she feigned surprise. She didn't have to feign surprise when Marc stepped out from behind him. But she recovered quick enough and introduced herself as a friend of Gary and Melanie's. Then she offered to go get them both a beer, leaving them to wonder why a "friend" would be dressed in a robe, apparently with not a hell of a lot else under it. She saw the guys look at each other and knew that their minds must have been whirling. 

She came back, and they were still standing where she had left them. She handed over the beers like a good little hostess, and sat down in the recliner. Acting like robots, they joined her and sat on the sofa. (I can imagine what they were thinking. Syd, in that powder blue robe, with her long, straight red hair in a pony-tail... oh, my!)

Steve noticed his stash of pot sitting on the coffee table, and Syd immediately apologized, saying it was her fault- that she had coerced me into rolling a joint to take to "the party." She made the same quotation mark signs around her head. She said she hoped Steve didn't mind and he just shrugged and rolled two more. One, the new guy, Marc, took and put in his coat pocket, and the other one, they lit up and passed around. Steve asked where I was, and Syd said that I had had a few drinks after dinner and had gone to bed. She also told him that I was pissed off.

They talked for a little while about work and all that and after the beer was done and the joint was trashed, she smiled and stretched languidly and said that she had better get back up to "the party." 

Later, Marc told me that when she got up, her robe parted and he saw Syd's shaved pussy and thought he was going to die. There was no doubt what kind of "party" was going on. He said Syd stopped to think for a moment, then looked back and asked if they like to join them. They both stared at her as if she had two heads. 

Syd said that she asked again, and Marc, who hadn't said much all night, said sure, if it was alright with everyone else. He didn't even look at Steve, he just got up and started walking to where Syd was. 

Steve just sat there looking stupid. All he could say was, "But-..." 

Syd looked back at him and said "Well, are you coming?" and he just said "But-..." again. Sydney thought it was almost the funniest thing she had ever heard, but she dared not laugh. She came back to him and sat beside him and asked what his problem was.  

"Well... I uh, what about Kit?" 

"Well, why don't you ask her?"

"Ask her? If she wants to go to an orgy?"

"Why not? She could only say no."

"And if she does? Say no, I mean. Can I still join you?"

"Well, sorry Steve, that would mean an odd number." She counted on her fingers. "There's Mel and Gary, and me and Marc over there." (She didn't bother to mention that their night had started out as a threesome, it probably would have confused him too much.) 

"If you can convince her to join us, we'll see you in Gary's room. If not, well, I guess we'll see you in the morning!"

-----

The key was Marc, and the fact that he didn't look like an ax murderer. (He was another waiter from Steve's restaurant, who just wanted to buy some pot.) Syd hadn't expected anyone but Steve to come in, so Marc was a complete surprise. She wouldn't have known what to do, had he looked like a drug-crazed biker, or obese computer geek. But he was eager enough, and looked clean and respectable. She took him in arm and led him upstairs. She quickly stripped herself and stripped him as Gary and Mel watched. Then she got down on her knees and sucked his cock right into her mouth.

-----

I heard the door to Gary's room open and close. A few minutes later, right on schedule, Steve opened our door and walked in. Now, you have to understand that I knew what he was going to ask me. That made all the difference. It was so hard not to laugh as he said hello... and... 

...asked me how I was doing... apologized for being an asshole... said he was sorry that I was pissed off at him, though, he said, I had every right to be... 

I lay there facing the wall, making monosyllabic replies to keep from going into convulsions. He was hesitant and acting like a man walking through a minefield. He sat down on the edge of the bed and I rolled over and looked at him. There was just the bedside lamp on, but I could see his cock straining to get out of his nice black work pants. He had his shirt off, and yeah, he had a nice bod. His pecs were defined, and he wasn't too hairy. He was handsome, I had to give him that. When I looked at his face it was so earnest a big-eyed puppy would have looked pale in comparison.

He noticed that I was dressed in a slinky teddy and his eyes passed over my body, looking at my breasts and licking his lips slightly when he did so. I told him that his apology was accepted, and that he was forgiven, though next time I would kick his ass if he treated me so shitty. He smiled and looked like a little boy. His hands started at my thigh and slid slowly up to my hip, then across my stomach. He kissed me and smiled. Then his face got serious.

"Katy," he said, "Gary and Mel, well they have this, well, there's a friend of theirs and they're, well... they asked if, uh, we wanted to..."

"Wanted to what?" I asked.

A long, deep breath. "Sex." It was almost inaudible.

"What?"

"Sex... they're over there... and they asked us..."

"What are you talking about?"

"They asked... uh, if we would like to uh, join them, and uh... have sex." He shrugged. 

I made my eyes get really wide. "They asked us... if we wanted to, to join them? Having sex?"

He shrugged again as if to say he couldn't believe it either.

"Do you want to?" I asked. He shrugged yet again.

I told him that I had to go to the bathroom and left him sitting there. 

-----

I turned on the taps and just about fell over laughing- quietly, but oh, how I laughed. It took a while to get myself under control, but I did, and when I walked back into the room, Steve was sitting in the same place. He looked at me and I nodded and said, "Yeah... why not?" He jumped up and kissed me.

He didn't ask if I was alright with this; if I thought our relationship could handle it or anything, he just jumped at the chance to sink his weasely dink into something strange. 

If I hadn't already known, that's when I knew it was really over. To continue with the largemouth bass metaphor, Syd had hooked him and played him. I was supposed to land him. But instead, the stupid fish had jumped right into the boat.

-----

We opened the door and walked in. The air was thick with pot smoke, beer fumes and high levels of arousal. I thought Steve's eyes would fall out of his head. I had to act shocked too, at first, to keep the charade going. Everyone was naked, for starters. Sydney was on all fours at the foot of the bed. A stranger was standing behind her, fucking her pussy while holding her hips tightly. (I didn't know who this new guy was but he looked nice, and cute, though a bit young. Whatever, the more the merrier! Syd sure looked like she didn't mind...) 

While she was being fucked, Syd had her mouth clamped on one of Mel's little titties, moaning and sucking. Gary was watching intently, stroking his half-hard cock. Nobody stopped what they were doing, but all eyes swung toward us for a moment, nodded a greeting, and then went back to what they were doing. After a second, Mel disengaged herself and came around the bed and walked right up to us. She ignored me. She went right for Steve. 




Treason Ch. 03-04



She kissed him deeply and their tongues were deep in each other's mouths. Her hands were undoing his button and zipper, and as I watched, she stripped him of pants and underwear. She made a show of looking at me as if for approval. I said go for it, and she started sucking his cock, while kneeling in the middle of the floor. I went to investigate Syd, and the guy I had never met before. I knew Steve was watching when I walked up to the new guy as he was pounding furiously into Syd, and I kissed him full on the mouth. I introduced myself as Kit, and he said his name was Marc. I said I was glad to meet him.

I stepped away and lifted my nightie off, looking into his eyes, like I was stripping for him alone. I kissed him again, then checking to be sure Steve was watching, I bent down and kissed Sydney, a long lingering kiss. Steve didn't know what to do. Between me fulfilling his long-standing fantasy, and Mel giving him great head, he was blown away.

I started rubbing my hands all over Syd's back and brought them around to play with her tits as I sat beside her on the bed. Marc started pounding into Sydney and moaning that he was going to cum. He asked where he should do it and Syd told him to slow down, it wasn't time yet. But, she said, it would be worth it when he did...

He exercised remarkable control, and slowed down and got himself together. "Watch this," said Syd, and she pulled herself off his cock. And off his cock... And- oh, my god! it was a beauty. It must have been eight and a half or nine inches long and almost two inches through. It was wet and it pulsed like an animal. The foreskin slid back over top of the head, like some beast hibernating. Syd sat beside me. That cock was right in front of us; I moaned at the sight of it. I even heard Steve whistle under his breath when it was unveiled. I happened to look back at Gary and his eyes were like saucers as he stroked his now hard cock. Syd kissed my ear, grinning.

"I want to see him fuck your tits, Kit..."

I simply nodded and reached out to touch Marc's manhood. I wrapped my hand around it, or tried to. It was warm and slick and I had never held anything so wondrous! If I thought Steve was above average, this was way above average! I led him around the side of the bed and made him lay back against the pillows beside Gary. Gary was pushed up even closer when Mel and Steve decided to get horizontal beside us. Mel got on her hands and knees and Steve slid his cock into her tight, little blonde hole, and started fucking away. Mel was watching Marc and I, as well as Gary, who was snuggled into Marc's side.

I got Marc to lift his butt so I could slide my thighs under his ass. While I was doing this, Gary, transfixed, reached over and rubbed a hand over Marc's cock, up and down, as it lay on his belly. Instead of freaking, Marc looked at him and smiled and took Gary's cock in his own hand. They stroked each other a few times. Steve had to have seen this, but the only reaction from him was a sharp hiss of breath as he fucked Mel, doggy-style, beside us. Gary looked at Syd and said "Bedside table- drawer..." and Syd reached over, opened the drawer and pulled out a tube of KY. Even though Marc's cock was wet with Syd's and his juices, my breasts were dry. She squeezed a dollop in the valley of my breasts, and squeezed another on the tip of Marc's massive erection. Then, smiling, she squeezed one onto Gary's. She capped the tube and started rubbing the lube onto my tits, while the guys worked the KY into each others cocks.

I caught Gary's eye and they withdrew from each other so I could lean down and go to work. I took Marc's cock in between my globes and pushed them together with my hands- my fingers pinching the nipples- and started hunching up and down, sliding his rod in the slick valley of my tit-flesh. He started moaning and we looked into each others eyes. I felt an immediate reaction and he said, later, that he did too. Damned if I was going to stop and talk about it, though. Syd was beside us, rubbing my ass and keeping up a steady torrent of dirty talk, saying stuff like "How do you like that, boy? You like your big fucking cock between her big fucking tits?" (He said he did.) And, "How does that feel, my sweet little slut? His big cock gonna get you all wet? Is he gonna cover your beautiful tits with his cum? You want that?" (I did. The fact is, yes, I love my tits and I love them better when they're covered in cum...) Now and then I would drop down and take the head of his cock into my mouth. It was so sweet, even with the KY! Not only could I taste his pre-cum, but as well the 'leftovers' from lovely Syd's pussy!

Marc hadn't stopped stroking Gary's cock, but Gary gently removed his hand and apologized that he was getting sore. Marc smiled, and Gary put an arm around him. It was a startling, and tender, gesture. Gary started rubbing Marc's chest and pecs. They weren't massive or anything, but the kid was no stranger to the gym. Gary's cock may have been tender, too, but by now it sure was hard! 

Our attention was diverted by Mel beside us, who started groaning in rhythm with the fucking my boyfriend was giving her. The sound of his thighs smacking on her ass filled the room. She told him to pull out and cum all over her ass. He drove the first spurt deep into her, then he pulled out and his throbbing prick shot four more, almost all the way up to her neck. She moved up and collapsed beside Gary, kissing him as he rubbed Marc's chest. She whispered to him, and he dipped his fingers in the streaks of cum on her back. He was tentative at first, then he became more deliberate. I sneaked a peek at Steve, still on his knees, pumping the last drops from his cock, into his hand. I could tell he was super-uncomfortable with the fact that his friend and his coworker, were feeling up each other unashamedly. I could see what Mel meant- it was turning me on, too.

So that bed sure was crowded! Syd was crouched on the edge of the bed, acting as masseuse and erotic cheerleader. Marc was lying on his back with me tit-fucking him. Gary lay close beside Marc, with an arm around him, rubbing his chest. Mel was snuggled up beside her boyfriend, kissing him, while with his free hand, he played with the cum on her back. The aforementioned cum had been deposited on her back by my boyfriend, Steve. Steve, now that he had fucked Mel, was off to the side at the foot of the bed, somewhat disgusted by the rising homo-erotic mood between his two male friends. (Too fucking bad for him!)

It wasn't long before Marc said that he was ready to cum, and for me it was not a moment too soon. I started stroking my breasts around his prick at a faster and faster rate, pinching my nipples tightly and groaning through clenched teeth. Marc arched his back and blew a geyser right up under my chin. After the first jet, I leaned back to let the rest of it paint my tits, even squeezing a drop or two onto my hard, aroused nipples. Everyone exclaimed, and ooohed and aaahed and said how cool it looked; everyone but Steve. He was rapidly turning himself into an outsider. (Again, too fucking bad for him.)

I released his cock, and it snapped wetly back against his belly. It was still pretty hard! It was his second cum, after being blown by Syd before I got to him. Impressive! He lay there, smiling and satisfied, gently massaging his balls. I leaned back onto my calves, and Syd leaned in to lick some of the cum off my chest. Then Mel did. Then Gary did. Gary found a nice load of Marc's cum in the vale of my breasts and licked all the way up to under my chin, sucking the nectar into his mouth. Mel sat back grinning, showing off a big pool on the end of her tongue. Mel and Gary eagerly kissed, and they swapped the cum back and forth. Syd licked the rest off my tits and we kissed and swapped spit and semen both. 

Then it happened. Mel whispered something to Gary and after a hesitating moment, Gary turned and took Marc's cock in hand and stroked it, softly pulling the foreskin back down the shaft, exposing the plum-colored head. Marc arched his back and said, "Oh, yes..." Gary lifted the cock upright, and he bent down. He took his first cock into his mouth, sucking it as deep as he could, considering its size, and then wrapping his tongue around the head and down the shaft. I looked at Mel- she was enraptured, and one hand slid around my waist while the other stroked her pussy. Syd slid over and slung one arm over my shoulder. The three of us held each other close and watched. Mel leaned in and kissed my cheek and said, "Isn't that the horniest thing you've ever seen?" I kissed her and agreed.

It got better. A secondary pool of cum had formed on Marc's belly. Gary licked and sucked it up like nothing and moved up. The two guys looked at each other and I saw the slightest nod from Marc and the two of them kissed. Their tongues were deep in each other's mouths and their hands were all over each other's bodies. They were moaning and really getting into it. 

Mel hissed sharply and she drove two fingers all the way up her love tunnel and started frigging them in and out. Syd squeezed me tighter and purred low in her throat like a jungle cat. Steve regained his voice and muttered something about 'fucking fags'. I turned on him and told him to shut up.

He turned red and said, "Come on, Kate. We're leaving."

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"I'm not staying to watch those fags."

"Oh, sure," I said. "It's good enough to watch two girls get it on, but when two guys do, its wrong. Is that it?"

I could see he was stumped. I could see the confusion roiling behind his brow. These were two guys, one that he had known since Grade Three and the other for just a short while, but they were lying on a bed kissing and groping each other like they had been born to it.

He asked one last time. "Are you coming or not?"

I said, "No. You're the one who wanted to come here tonight and I'm going to stay until I'm ready to go." (I was losing my temper at his double standard, self-righteous bullshit, but I had warned the others that it might happen...) "If you can't handle that... well, too fucking bad for you." 

He got up and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Our bedroom door slammed shortly thereafter.

Syd said, "Good one," and lightly punched my shoulder. Mel was still finger fucking herself, but she smiled at me her face red and frantic. We made room in the middle of the bed as Gary and Marc repositioned themselves into a 69. As Mel kept her erotic watch, Syd and I had some unfinished business of our own. I laid her back on the bed and started counting her freckles. With my tongue.

-----

I should explain that these are true events but they are from a time in my life... that though I'm not ashamed of them, well, they cause me some unease. First, the sex we had was unprotected. We all knew about AIDS and we were lucky none of us passed anything on, or caught anything. We dodged the bullet as a group and we were lucky. Second, I did betray my boyfriend and I had sex with someone behind his back. And even though I found out later that he had been sleeping around on me, it made little difference. 

But on the happy side, I did meet the man I am now married to. Our adventures continue, though infrequently, and with far more care and attention to safe sexual practices...



Treason Ch. 03



"Take this letter to Lord Rutherford at once," he instructed the startled man. "From your hands to his. Do you understand?" 

The servant accepted the half-crown pressed into his palm and nodded. He then sped away. 

Lord Tredawn pushed the door to his chambers closed and leaned back heavily against it. He reached his fingers into his shirt and retrieved the gold locket hanging about his neck. He opened it and looked down at the portrait of the young woman with long, dark locks smiling up at him. His thumb brushed over the gentle face and a tear clouded his gaze. 

"Lalita," he vowed. "I will protect our daughter with my life." 

The bright stream of sunlight that cascaded through the small glass window had slowly faded with the onset of night. 

Lord Tredawn sat in the window place, his arms folded across his chest and his hunched silhouette outlined in the feeble flicker of a burning candle. He watched the flame as it sputtered to nothing, robbing the room of its faint mellow glow and plunging it into moonlit shadows. 

His gaze traversed the blue-black radiance. His bed and writing desk stood in one corner and the table and chair in the other. His gloves, placard and doublet were left lying on the floor where he'd thrown them. He pondered the quiet serenity and sighed. In a moment such as this, there was no trace of the cruelty and pain life had bestowed upon him. 

A light tap at the door erupted through the dusky silence followed by a hushed voice. "Samuel! Samuel! Are you awake? It's Walter." 

Lord Tredawn sprang to his feet and raced across the room. He pulled the door open. 

Walter Rutherford made his excuses upon entering the apartment. "A thousand apologies for my delay. I returned late in the day from Derbyshire." 

"That's quite all right, Walter. You're here now and for that I'm grateful." 

"What is it? Your letter bade me make haste as if this be a matter of life and death." 

Lord Tredawn closed the door and retreated with heavy steps to the dormant fireplace covering the adjacent wall. 

"If it concerned my own life, Walter, I wouldn't have given you such cause for alarm." 

He paused. "Alas, it does not." 

Lord Rutherford stepped further into the sparsely lit room. His feet kicked against the doublet lying there. It slid across the wooden floor, although neither paid it much attention. 

"This sounds quite ominous, Samuel. Tell me how I can be of assistance, my friend." 

Lord Tredawn drew a deep breath in and then exhaled it slowly. "Help me save my daughter," he said. 

Lord Rutherford shifted into the shaft of silver-white moonlight seeping through the small window, affording Lord Tredawn a better view of his astonishment. 

"Your daughter? I don't understand. Upon my life, I don't think I've ever heard you speak of a daughter." 

"I haven't, Walter." 

Lord Rutherford repeated his disbelief. He shook his head and released a breath. "In these long years that I've known you—Why didn't you tell me?" 

"It's a long story with an even longer explanation, but at this moment my main concern is to prevent my daughter coming to harm." 

"Why would anyone want to harm your daughter? Although I think the better question is who?" 

"Lady Bowes." 

"Why?" 

Lord Tredawn wiped a weary hand down his face and stroked his pale beard to a point. "My daughter's life in exchange for something I have in my possession." 

"Then, I suggest you give Lady Bowes what she demands," Lord Rutherford proposed. 

"It's a little more complicated than that, Walter. There would be grave risk to the King and England should I do that." 

"What do you mean?" 

"A few weeks ago I received information concerning a Catholic uprising against the King." 

"England abounds with Catholic conspiracies, Samuel. Every week we're apprized of some new attack." 

Lord Tredawn shrugged. He had fifty agents in his pay at foreign courts besides eighteen persons whose functions were even more obscure, so he was well aware of this fact. 

"Yes, but I received timely word from my spies at the French court forewarning of ever-increasing talk to invade England," he elaborated. "King Henri had already dispatched a man, one Monsieur Cavalle, to retrieve a commissioned chart from Lady Bowes' hand." 

"Are you sure?" 

Lord Tredawn nodded. "Monsieur Cavalle was intercepted in Southampton as he made ready his escape to France. He had the chart in his possession." 

Lord Tredawn returned to the window place. "All this time I'd suspected Lord Salisbury of being the eminence grise working with Lord Robert Catesby against the King." 

Lord Rutherford came to sit next to Lord Tredawn in the window place. "Now you know you need look no further than the King's mistress," he said. "You must see the King and tell him of Lady Bowes' treachery." 

"There in lies the rub, my friend. I can prove nothing of what I say. The chart I have is nothing but lines on paper leading nowhere and I cannot deduce its significance. Save Lady Bowes' admission, there's nothing to prove her guilt. Besides, the King is in Scotland quelling the rising rebellion. If I await his return it would be too late to rescue my daughter and England will be lost to France and overrun by Catholics. Lady Bowes has timed this well." 

"And what of this man, Cavalle? Surely—" 

"Unfortunately Monsieur Cavalle died resisting his arrest." 

"What do you propose, then?" 

Lord Tredawn crossed the room to his writing desk and returned with an invitation. "This was found about Monsieur Cavalle's person. Tomorrow night Lady Bowes holds a Masque at Lambeth Palace in celebration of her birthday. It's the perfect opportunity; for all will be in disguise and my daughter will be present. I mean to speak to Elina during the celebrations and convince her to come away with me. All I need, Walter, is a safe place to hide her until I can arrange passage to the Americas." 

"I know of someone who would offer your daughter protection at a moments notice for as long as necessary." 

Lord Rutherford strode toward the door. "I'll make the arrangements tonight." 

"Be careful," Lord Tredawn warned. "Lady Bowes is much more dangerous than you know and her Catholic spies are everywhere. With the King away she is at liberty to make her move with France." 

Lord Rutherford glanced over his shoulder and grinned broadly. "But not without the chart. What say you, we rescue your daughter, my lord?"



Treason Ch. 04



Lady Bowes reclined on large purple cushions, her silver gown iridescent in the moonlight, her fair hair threaded with pearls and tumbling loose about her bare shoulders. Lady Hamilton sat to her left in the royal barge and the Maids of Honor were seated to her right. 

Celeste leaned over the side of the craft and gazed down into the shimmering water at the banks of oars rising and falling in silent rhythm. Like her mistress, she wore a silver mask adorned with feathers and tiny jewels and had been dressed in a diaphanous gown that even Botticelli wouldn't have been averse to painting. And like her mistress too, her hair flowed freely down her back. She fingered the locket about her neck her mind still occupied with the peculiarities of the previous day. And although she could never entertain the idea of having him as a husband, she couldn't help but wonder why the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland remained so ingrained in her thoughts.

The strangest feeling of being watched engulfed her and she lifted her head turning her gaze onto the procession of smaller boats following behind. Three hundred guests had been evenly divided onto fifty gaily painted and flamboyantly draped vessels. It was a wonderful sight to behold. Music and laughter filled the warm midsummer night, although the occasional scent of spiced wine and the murmur of passionate oaths and eagerly returned kisses drifted on the breeze. It was a night that lent itself to seducing and being seduced. Anne, undoubtedly, would go in search of the Duke De Villiers upon their arrival but Celeste wanted no lover tonight or any other night. 

"Look, Celeste!"

Her companions could barely contain their excitement. She looked away from the imposing shadow of Westminster Palace and turned her attention across the river to where hundreds of burning fakkels flickered along the riverbank. The oars lifted and the barge glided through the water parting the thousands of small candles that had been set adrift in colorful paper lanterns. The gentle pace slowed. The vessel scuffed and stopped alongside stone steps leading up to a red-bricked Tudor gatehouse. They had reached Lambeth Palace. 

Excitement spilled from vessel to landing stage.

Boats moored in quick succession amid loud cheers and peals of laughter. Someone tugged at her hand pulling her through the maze of courtyards, gardens and buildings. She couldn't help but get caught up in the gaiety of bright costumes and high-spirits lifting her mood. Celeste dismissed her foolishness and fancied imaginings and ran with the revelers through the beautiful stone corridors and elegant high-domed rooms. 

The final door opened onto a tall-pillared, marbled-floor room. 

The crowd danced past nudging her to one side. She paused inside the carved, lofty doorway, her eyes lit in awe. Up until now everything had been but a mere backdrop to the opulent feast awaiting them in the Archbishop's grand banquet hall. Gold trimmed purple and red chaise longues occupied spaces beneath high arched windows and huge wooden tables laden with candles, food and wine stood in the middle of the high-domed room. She watched, enthralled by the bacchanalian scene unveiling amid painted deities and large Biblical frescos. The air hung thick with decadence, and anonymity served it well. Shyly and discreetly, she cast her gaze about the grand hall unable to tear her eyes away from the orgy of half-naked bodies partaking of this licentious feast of the gods. 

Someone yelled, "Galliard!" and with much jostling and hilarity the party rushed forward toward an adjoining hall that boasted a massive triple fireplace that covered an entire wall. 

At the far end of the fire lit room Lady Bowes took the proffered arm of an obvious admirer. Celeste stayed hidden close to the wall. She didn't mean to stare but she found she couldn't look away either. The man guiding her mistress intrigued her. His hair and physique so much like Zev. She sighed. Each night she'd prayed Zev would come for her and be with her and yet her prayers had remained unanswered. She inched closer, keeping to the shadows.

Where many a man wore colored hose, embroidered doublets and a visible codpiece this man dressed soberly without embellishment. She forced her gaze away from the unmistakable bulge beneath his jerkin and shook her head. The intoxicating air made her far too bold. Perhaps a walk in the garden would clear her head. She caught the steely flash of his gray eyes. 

Firelight sparked their depths lending an air of wickedness to his already devilish appeal and conveying his intent in so clear and powerful a manner she couldn't possibly misunderstand. She pressed her back against the wood-paneled wall certain it was the only thing holding her upright. He proffered a slight bow but she couldn't return the courtesy. She touched nervous fingers to her mask grateful it had remained in place.

The music started and the room erupted into a frenzy of vigorous jumps, leaps and hops. She made good her escape and fled to the open doors leading to the Archbishop's private terrace. She thought of Zev and guilt stabbed at her heart. For the first time in the three months she'd come close to betraying her heart's desire.

Celeste hastened down the steps into the secluded garden. She stopped short and whirled about, her heart pounding in her chest. Had he followed her outside? Deserted Lady Bowes with thoughts of spending a night in her arms? The power of her response mortified her. 

"Who is there?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

"There's no need for alarm." 

The man who addressed her stepped from the shadows of the fountain and removed his mask. Celeste gasped her surprise and curtseyed. 

"Forgive me, my lord," she said. "I didn't know you."

"That's quite all right. Please rise." 

Celeste took an instinctive step backward and stared wide-eyed at the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. 

"I won't marry you, my lord. I can't—"

He stepped forward, his gaze soft and reached a hand to her face. She pivoted on her heels and made to take flight. His voice halted her mid-step.

"Forgive me, Elina. Please don't be frightened. I wish you no harm. It's just—" 

Her heart thumped against her ribs. She turned slowly back to face him. 

How could he know my name?

"I must ask you to listen to me. You are in grave danger." 

"Danger? From whom?" she breathed. 

How could he know my name?

"If you'll permit me, Elina. I'll escort you from this place and explain everything. There's a great deal you must know."

A rustle of sound caused Celeste to spin about. A somberly clad man wearing a plain black mask stood directly behind her. She raised her arms shielding her body from the heat of his bold gaze.

"May I introduce Lord Rutherford, Elina? He has made arrangements for your safety."

Celeste swung back to the older man. She remembered him standing in Lady Bowes' chamber but a day earlier. He'd been aloof and forbidding and now he knew her name and wanted to rescue her.

"Why should I be in danger? From whom must I, thus, be protected? How do you know my name?"

"We have no time to explain this now," Lord Rutherford interjected. 

He took her arm and pulled her non-too-gently behind him toward the neat rows of yellow flowers lining the straight path.

Celeste hissed through clenched teeth. "Let me go at once or I'll scream." 

She felt rather than saw the soft cloth pressed against her nose and mouth. Her knees buckled beneath her and strong arms embraced her. The ground fell away as she felt herself being lifted and slumped across Lord Rutherford's shoulder. He didn't feel as broad as she'd first assumed or as muscular. A voice seeped through her befuddled brain. Was there concern in the sharp tone?

"What the devil have you done? I don't want her hurt, Walter."

"It's all right, Samuel. She sleeps. Nothing more. Come."

Celeste moaned in futile defiance, her mind fighting sleep. She tried to focus on her surroundings but her head hurt. Lord Rutherford moved swiftly through the trees. With her faculties numbed, she could exercise no control over her head as it bounced listlessly against his thin back. Her eyelids grew heavy, yet she refused to succumb. The faint ripple of water lapped against the landing stage. They'd reached the river. 

She fell back against a soft wall. 

Cushions? 

Warmth engulfed her shoulders and she forced her eyes open once more. Lord Rutherford leant above her tucking a blanket tighter about her. Her mind relaxed in this comfort and her eyes, despite her resolve, fluttered closed.





Treason Ch. 04



My dear Elina, words cannot express the joy I felt upon seeing you after so many years. Your image, so very much like your mother, reawakened the pain in my heart at her loss. But such unbearable sorrow would be even more insufferable should harm befall you. Please don't be alarmed, my dear, for it's not my intention to either harm or frighten you but I must inform you that you are in the gravest of danger and beg your forgiveness for this subterfuge. Upon my return I will do my utmost to explain all but until that time I implore patience and ask you to trust me, a man altogether unknown to you but who would care for you as he would an only daughter. You are safe in Madam Dubois' care and I bid you heed her advice in all matters. 

Your trusted servant

Samuel Tredawn, Lord Tredawn, Earl of Tredawn.

Celeste cast a cautious glance at the woman watching her with curious eyes. "You are Madam Dubois?"

"I am indeed."

Madam Dubois crossed the tiny space and stood in front of Celeste. She pulled a ring from the pinky of her left hand and slipped it on Celeste's finger. 

"Lord Tredawn bade me give you this so you would believe him sincere," she said.

Celeste gasped at the royal seal. The Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland? She didn't understand. Why would such an important man take an interest in her unless—?

"Could Lord Tredawn—" 

She faltered and raised her eyes to Madam Dubois' round face. Could Lord Tredawn possibly know her father?

"What is it, Miss Darwent?" 

Celeste opened her mouth to voice this thought but thinking better of it snapped it shut once again. "Nothing," she said. 

She thrust the parchment between them. "Am I truly to believe such a letter?" 

Madam Dubois released a soft breath, her brow drawn in apparent indecision. "I shouldn't be telling you this," she acknowledged, "but I feel it may enlighten your situation. Lord Tredawn has enemies who have gained knowledge of your existence," she said. "You are his weakness."

"How can that be possible? What am I to the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland that through me he can be made so vulnerable?"

"Only Lord Tredawn can know the answer to that, Miss Darwent." 

"I wish to write Lady Bowes at once. She must be told of my whereabouts."

"I can't allow that," Madam Dubois returned firmly. "Lord Tredawn was adamant that no one know where you are."

"What kind of man is he to forbid me contact?" Celeste challenged. 

She waved the letter emphatically before her. "He doesn't wish me harm," she mocked, "but to keep me here against my will and forbid me contact with those who would miss me is cruel indeed."

"You must understand, Lord Tredawn can trust no one," Madam Dubois explained.

"No? But am I not to trust you, Madam Dubois?" 

"I see you are quick of wit and tongue. You'll serve quite well here, although you would do well to guard both."

"Where am I?" 

"The most respected and well-guarded stew outside of London."

"A brothel?"

Madam Dubois acquiesced with a slight shrug of her plump shoulders. "My ladies are suspicious of new faces in particular those whose beauty and wit surpasses their own. It would be in your interest to keep your head down and do as you're told. You must not focus too much attention upon yourself. Your demeanor must be that of a servant."

Celeste jumped to her feet. "A servant?" 

"Yes, Miss Darwent, a servant. I'm in need of an extra pair of hands around the place and Linette would be glad of the assistance in the kitchen. Or would you prefer another position in this household? One that requires a great deal of lying down on your back."

Celeste shook her head, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall.

"Besides," Madam Dubois continued, "how better to disguise your presence and prevent wagging tongues from disclosing your identity than to hide you in plain sight. I would, therefore, suggest you neither divulge the reason you're here nor your position in society. Now," she concluded. "I do believe I've been forthright with you, Miss Darwent. Have I given you reason not to trust me?" 

Celeste shook her head again. Madam Dubois' sincerity couldn't be doubted or faulted and with grave reluctance she resigned herself to the inevitable. 

"How long must I remain here?" 

"Until Lord Tredawn has made arrangements for your passage to the Americas—"

"Must I leave England?" 

Hot tears filled her eyes and fell down her cheeks. She couldn't leave England not now. What of her father? What of Zev? 

"I cannot—"

Madam Dubois' features softened. "For your safety," she said. "You must." 





Treason Ch. 05



Lord Rutherford leaned over the side of Westminster Bridge and studied the gurgling body of water gushing forth from beneath it. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders against the early autumn winds stirring the morning air. It'd been two months since he'd last spoken with Tredawn. Two months since they'd rescued his daughter and secreted her to Madam Dubois' stew in Kennington. Two months since Lord Tredawn had disappeared without a trace. Could the rumors indeed be true? 

Are you the traitor, Samuel? 

Lord Rutherford pushed himself upright and resumed his walk across the bridge. A man who ached to save his only daughter wouldn't willingly leave her to the mercy of his enemies. It didn't make any sense. He drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders. 

"Samuel. Send word, damn you," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Let me know what you are about." 

A voice familiar in tone and depth sounded above the howl of the wind. "You must not attend the state opening of parliament, Walter." 

Lord Rutherford spun about, his eyes wide and his brow pinched in uncertainty. He peered from one end of the bridge to the other his eyes wide and his brow pinched in uncertainty. He searched the darkness. Did his mind play tricks? 

His ears pricked at the faint tread of quickening steps. He swung his gaze from the bridge down onto the narrow, deserted street and spied the tall figure hastening away on the wings of Mercury himself. Lord Rutherford narrowed his eyes and peered harder after the striding form taking in the familiar gait and billowing cloak as its pattern of gold thread glinted in the morning light. 

Tredawn? 

He called out to the retreating man. "Tredawn! Tredawn! Wait!" 

Lord Rutherford dashed from the bridge and hastened in the direction of the fast disappearing figure. He neared the broad shouldered man with ramrod straight back—and was convinced. This was Samuel in all but confirmation, he was certain of it. He needed but one look. Lord Rutherford called out again but the man neither hesitated nor turned at his call. He darted into a narrow alley. 

Lord Rutherford stared down the empty lane, his brow furrowed and his breath heavy. "Samuel. What the devil are you about?" 

**** 

Lord Tredawn was unfortunately about nothing. He sat on the damp, stone floor where he'd been for the last two months, his hands bound roughly behind his back. He tried to evade the chill at his back, although the attempt was futile. In whichever direction he turned his body was subjected to the cold flow of air seeping through the walls and into his bones. The feeling had all but gone from his fingers. Somewhere in his dark world, he heard the distant resonance of low voices. He tried to stand. 

"Water," he croaked. 

The murmuring continued, uninterrupted. He peered with desperation through the cloth bound before his eyes but it kept him blind. He called again, louder, above the hushed whispers. 

"Water." 

This time the talk ceased and a scornful voice retorted. "Pipe down!" 

Lord Tredawn pricked his ears at the sound of the heavy door. It creaked open as it'd done so many times before. Footsteps came and went and all who entered spoke continuously in low, hushed tones. He no longer had the measurement of time but he knew activities about him had increased. 

In the beginning he'd sat alone with only the echo of lapping water against stonewall to keep him sane. Yet how much time had passed between then and now? Two months? Three? He could no longer say. The smell of the tallow candles suffocated him and he longed for the scent of fresh air. His ears pricked again this time at the slow approaching footsteps. 

"Your disappearance these two months is the cause of much rumor and speculation at court, my lord. Some say you've developed Catholic sympathies and have fled to Flanders to help raise an army of exiled Catholics to invade England while the King is still away in Scotland. Others say you plot with Rome to steal the throne of England for yourself. But I have it on good authority Lord Rutherford will be given reason tonight to testify to your presence in London and your warning that he should stay away from Westminster Palace October 3." 

Lord Tredawn recognized the venomous tone of Lady Bowes and struggled to his feet. "And why would I tell Walter to stay away from the state opening of parliament?" 

"To save his life, of course. Besides, when the King is dead there will be a need for many to apportion blame." 

"Where am I?" Lord Tredawn demanded through clenched teeth. "You have no right to keep me here. I demand to be set free. If you harm the King—" 

"You'll do what? There's nothing to be done, my lord. You cannot save the King. Parliament will sit October 3 with or without your presence and on that day the King, his aristocrats and the entire royal line will die. That is all, save one." 

Strong fingers ripped the blindfold from Lord Tredawn's face. He blinked adjusting his eyes to the sparse light. They'd been deprived of light for so long it hurt to focus but it hurt more to gaze upon the face but inches from his whose bright eyes shone full with fire and meaning. Lady Bowes opened her cloak and with full incredulity he lowered his eyes to the unmistakable roundness of her body. 

"You? You carry the King's child?" 

"Seven months gone. The midwife assures me I carry a male child. A male child of royal blood and most important a Catholic," Lady Bowes said. 

She pulled her cloak closed and gave a mocking smile. "But speaking of children, my lord, your daughter is set to inherit nothing. Your disappearance merely lends truth to the rumors of your Catholic tendencies. Lord Salisbury intends to auction your estate and title to the highest bidder and your name is no longer spoken above a whisper at court—" 

"My friends cannot believe me capable of killing the King, let alone planning his death. You will be stopped!" 

"By whom? Lord Newingham? Lord Bever? They were long persuaded of the foolhardiness of their resistance. You should've followed their example, my lord. Didn't I offer you the chance to retire to your beloved estate in Cornwall? Now you'll never see it or your daughter again. Pity." 

Lady Bowes turned to walk away, then stopped. She wheeled around, her eyes intense in the dimness. "There may still be a way for you to redeem yourself," she said. 

The deceptive sound of hope lingered in the air. "I still want the chart you stole from me but because you've caused me much time and trouble I want the names of your Protestant spies in France too. Give me what I want and you may go. We can then explain away this whole mess as some vast Catholic conspiracy," she mocked acerbically. 

Lord Tredawn stiffened. "I've no intention of betraying my friends." 

A man Lord Tredawn recognized as the Catholic noble, Thomas Percy, grabbed him by the throat. Lord Percy's fingers dug hard into his flesh tightening about his throat and squeezing his windpipe shut. 

Lady Bowes stepped closer. "This is no time to be proud, my lord," she hissed. "Besides, you can ill afford to be." 

She gave a brief nod and Lord Percy lessened his grip about Lord Tredawn's throat. 

"Did you think to hide your daughter from me?" Lady Bowes scoffed. "You lack imagination, my lord. Give me the chart and the names or by the time I'm through with your daughter's reputation no man of substance will want the gypsy whore." 

Lord Percy's abrupt release caused Lord Tredawn to stumble backward against the wall. For a few moments he leaned heavily against it, closing his eyes in brief dejection. Lady Bowes had found his daughter. No. 

"Well?" She pressed. 

Lord Tredawn studied her face through his swollen eyes. He was in no doubt Lady Bowes was capable of carrying out this threat if only to avenge her sense of injury, yet should he capitulate and give her what she wished he had no guarantee Elina wouldn't be harmed. 

"My death ought be enough," he ceded. "My daughter is no threat to you and neither are my friends. Leave her be." 

"You must realize your death is not enough to ensure your daughter's safety, my lord. I need ensure your honesty for I can ill-afford your deception. When I have that I'll let your daughter go free. Unharmed. She need never know what has taken place between us." 

Lady Bowes stepped closer. "No harm will come to your daughter if you give me exactly what I want." 

She nodded to Lord Percy who immediately produced paper and quill from about his person. 

Lord Tredawn closed his eyes. 

Elina. My God, Elina, what have I done? 

His thoughts turned to the evening of the Masque—the evening he'd last seen her beautiful face. She would surely believe he'd deserted her. 

"Didn't I once tell you, you and you alone held your daughter's life in the palm of your hands, my lord?" Lady Bowes jeered. 

With a sweep of her gown against the stone floor, she turned on her heels and disappeared into the shadows. The door creaked open— 

"You're found out, Lady Bowes," Lord Tredawn shouted after her. 

He half-laughed in his desperation to hurt her. "Lord Salisbury knows of your plan to assassinate the King." 

"You lie!" Lady Bowes spat, returning promptly to his side. 

"Do I?" Lord Tredawn taunted. "For many months I'd spied on Lord Salisbury's activities and thrice did I see him meet with the well-known Catholic agitator, Robert Catesby. One thing I didn't understand was why Salisbury would elicit Catesby's help. Salisbury loathes Catholics—all Catholics, madam. Then, I understood. If Catesby had plans to assassinate the King, believe me, Salisbury knew. Salisbury is biding his time waiting for the right moment to act in either his own interest or the King's." 

"You lie, Lord Tredawn," Lady Bowes repeated. "Did you hope to gain your freedom this way? Lord Salisbury knows nothing of our plans." 

"I've distrusted you, madam and I've loathed you but never once have I lied to you. I know Salisbury. There's one among you who spies for him. It's but a matter of time before my fate will become yours, my lady." 

Lady Bowes stared a moment longer into Lord Tredawn's weary face. Her own revealing her doubt, her fear. "You think to frighten me, my lord?" 

Her eyes darted to Lord Percy before she spun on her heels and stormed from the room. The heavy door closed with a resounding thud. 

Lord Percy motioned Lord Tredawn to turn about. The ropes binding his hands loosened and fell away. 

"Write!" Percy ordered. 

Lord Tredawn rubbed his throat and then lowered himself onto the cold stone slabs once more. He stared at the blank parchment laid out on the low table before him. A tiny piece of tallow candle provided light, his sole witness to a piece of paper that would soon bear testimony to his treachery. For what else was to be done? His effort to protect his daughter had failed and once again Lady Bowes proved to have the upper hand. 

"Wait!" He sprang to his feet. "What happens during the opening of parliament? I'm condemned to die, Lord Percy. All I ask is, how?" he added at Percy's grim silence. 

Percy suddenly grinned. "Next door," he thumbed, "is a vault full of gunpowder. We light it and boom! Parliament. You. And your Protestant king," he sneered. "Long live the King!" 

**** 

Celeste stood in the stew's narrow hallway and gazed out the mullion window upon the dawn of yet another new day. She marked the changes already in the season. The white and pink blossoms that once flourished amid tender green-leaved trees hung withered and dry among mature red-brown foliage. Dawn's bright, clear sky held little warmth and the usually smooth, white feathers of the wild swans swimming by were ruffled by early autumn winds. 

She released a tight breath and focused on the solitary brown-feathered duck sitting among the lavender flowers along the riverbank, its beak tucked beneath its wing. She stepped closer to the window, her heart heavy and her brow furrowed. Long days and work-filled hours had turned into long, miserable weeks. And Lord Tredawn had not returned with either explanation or vindication. 

Summer had come to an abrupt end, yet her situation hadn't changed and there seemed to be no end in sight. 

Madam Dubois had been kind to her, yet she'd been shown no favoritism in this bawdy house. Unprotected and vulnerable, she was subjected to all manner of lewd suggestion and decadent conduct by the gentlemen who frequented this place. She didn't deserve her mistresses' derision but her modesty and virtue, as Madam Dubois explained, proved to be a most refreshing and provocative quality with which the ladies of the stew couldn't compete. And that she couldn't be swayed for a king's ransom to betray her virtue had been deemed even more infuriating to those who had betrayed their own for a great deal less. 

Linette, a servant of similar age and height but who scarce opened her mouth in her own defense interrupted Celeste's thoughts. 

"Maggie wishes to see you," the servant girl said. 

Maggie's summons puzzled Celeste since she was never known to rise from her bed at such an early hour. Besides, of all the ladies at the stew it was Maggie Marsden who despised her most. Still, Celeste hastened from the hall to the spiral steps leading to the upper floor. She knocked on the door at the far end of the cold passageway and entered. 

Maggie was nowhere to be seen. 

Celeste ventured further into the brightly lit room moving toward the beautiful four-poster canopied bed dominating the space. Maggie's room was the best in this house and looking about her Celeste understood the many covetous sentiments. 

The bed was large enough to sleep four or five persons, although Maggie needn't share—as was the case with the other ladies. 

The room was a far cry from Celeste's small, cramped attic space with its straw mattress and threadbare furniture and oil-soaked linen hung at a glassless window. All had its place in this room. 

Celeste looked down at her hands, red and raw from long hours with needle and thread and household duties. She was sorely out of place among such luxury. She smoothed a conscious hand down the front of her servants' garb. 

"I hear you continue to decline all advances, Celeste." 

Her chin snapped up. Maggie had entered the bedroom from an adjoining space, yet remained somewhere behind the bed hidden from view. 

"You ought be grateful that gentlemen of such caliber show you any interest at all." 

"I neither want nor desire the interest of these gentlemen, Miss Margaret. I've made that clear on many an occasion." 

Maggie scoffed. She sashayed into the early morning light, her face with the barest of make-up and her long blonde hair glinting like spun gold. It was hardly surprising she was the most sought after lady of pleasure in this stew. 

"Do you think your refusal is sufficient? They're used to getting what they want and what they want is you as much as they once wanted me. Madam Dubois won't always be able to protect you." 

Maggie swept her a disparaging gaze. "Gentlemen used to come here for me. But I find these days I'm competing with a mere servant." 

You may have them all. 

Celeste leveled her gaze on the fair, voluptuous beauty. "I don't ask for their attention nor do I desire their gifts." 

"No? Do you find none appealing? Handsome? Don't tell me you don't privately enjoy this attention far more than you profess. I'm correct, aren't I?" 

Maggie moved closer and placed a long finger under Celeste's chin tilting her face until their eyes locked. "For whom do you remain so chaste, Celeste?" 

Celeste moistened her lips and thought of Zev, yet she kept that piece of information to herself. 

Maggie's prurient eyes lowered to Celeste's full mouth. "I, too, would like to hear professions of love and know them to be sincere, Celeste. And be overwhelmed with proposals of marriage for the promise of one night of unadulterated passion. This you receive and so much more, yet you reject them all." 

"I do nothing to encourage any of this—" 

"And that is what makes you the most infuriating creature. You don't have to do a thing. Not one solitary thing." 

Maggie traced a leisurely finger along the curve of Celeste's jaw. "Your innocence and dark beauty are reason enough. Your modesty, too." 

Her hand continued its slow exploration down the length of Celeste's exposed throat. She fingered the small gold locket absently. 

"No man can resist such a tempting combination, Celeste, in particular if they prove to be as unattainable as you prove to be." 

"I'm a servant not—" 

"What? Like one of us?" Maggie supplied with a lofty lift of a well-shaped eyebrow. "Perhaps, it's time to assess that fact." 

Her hand trailed the bodice of Celeste's gown and cupped her breast. "Perhaps," she whispered. "It's the softness of a woman's flesh that excites you, Celeste." 

Her fingers gently played with the rigid protuberance, plucking and squeezing the sensitive nub. 

Celeste gasped on a shaky breath. "May I go now? Linette requires my help in the kitchen." 

She took a voluntary step backward but Maggie's firm grip kept her in place. She brought her mouth closer to Celeste's lips. 

"I gave you no permission to leave." 

Celeste's mind reeled from the sensation of Maggie's lips pressing against her own. A thousand times she'd dreamt of Zev's mouth on hers tasting her, teaching her and kissing her for the first time. But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that first time to be with a woman. 

Her shocked gasp allowed Maggie to push her tongue past her trembling lips. Celeste's heart raced and the pulse jumped at her throat. Surreal one moment—repulsive the next—yet, too stunned to react and too confused to think, she allowed Maggie her way. 

Maggie tightened her grip about Celeste's waist one hand finding and caressing the firm, round curves of her buttocks through the thin frock she wore. She drew Celeste closer into this heady embrace until their tongues meshed in the very depth of her mouth. 

An intense warmth rose through Celeste prickling the hardened center of her breasts and tightening the delicate flesh above her thighs until it throbbed relentlessly against the fabric of her undergarment. Shock made way for pleasure and she heard herself whimper with longing. She didn't wear stay or body or chemise or smock and Maggie's fingers were nimble. Her bodice opened without resistance laying her breasts bare to the rousing touch of Maggie's practiced fingers. 

She arched with want and need. Maggie tore away from Celeste's eager kiss and sucked greedily on the plump, dusky tips pebbling between her fingers. 

Wave upon wave of scorching desire passed through Celeste and pooled heavily with delicious intensity between her thighs. Her pleasure spiraled and her need burgeoned. She didn't want this to stop—this wickedly delicious and overwhelming immoral fever. She arched her back some more and closed her eyes, threading her fingers through Maggie's silky hair and gasping at the exquisite feel of her warm, cavernous mouth on the tender, inflamed flesh. 

Maggie nibbled on the bud between her teeth. Her hand roved higher beneath Celeste's raised skirts to the taut, pulsating spot between her thighs. She sensed Maggie's smile against her skin. 

"Lady Bowes spoke true. You would do well in our profession for you are indeed as enthusiastic as any harlot I know." 

Celeste's heart froze at the clarity of Maggie's words. She jerked backward crying out as her nipple snagged between Maggie's eager teeth. She fumbled with the loosened bodice of her frock, her shaking hands seeking to hold the material across her naked breasts and brush her skirt into place. 




Treason Ch. 05



"Lady Bowes?" Her breath was scarce above a whisper. "Lady Bowes knows I'm here?" 

Maggie stiffened. She clamped her lips into a thin line and swore an oath, her eyes flashing anger and irritation. She grabbed a fistful of Celeste's dark locks and yanked her head far back until her eyes widened in fright and became moist in her pain. 

"If you go to Madam Dubois with this information, I'll tell all and sundry what occurred here between us this morning and it'll not bode well for you. I'll see to it every man—and woman," she added pointedly, "partake of you. There are ways to make you very willing and very accommodating." 

She brought her mouth down hard upon Celeste's lips, tightening her fingers in Celeste's hair as she deepened the kiss. "You're mine," Maggie rasped, finally raising her head. "At any moment and at any time. Now, get out." 

Celeste didn't wait to be told twice. She spun abruptly and raced to the door. She tried to hurry her escape, but her fingers fumbled in their haste against the door handle. The door sprung open, catching her unawares and propelling her backward. She scrambled forward and rushed from the room an arm across her breasts as she fled the winding attic stairs to her room. 

**** 

Three Catholic friends had gathered late at night at Lord Catesby's modest house in Lambeth, their solemn faces shadowed in the meager flame of a single burning tallow candle that hissed and spit between them. 

Guido Fawkes frowned. "I thought we were only to meet again when we were called upon to act. You jeopardize our identities." 

"We're safe. None suspect us," Catesby retorted. 

Thomas Percy interceded between his friends. "Can we be sure of that?" he asked. 

"That we don't hang from the nearest gibbet surely gives answer to that question, Thomas," Catesby said. 

"Then, here's another. What are we doing here?" 

Catesby stared at each man in turn. "There has been a fundamental change to our plans, gentlemen." 

"I, too, grow tired of parliament's delay," Guido said. "The King returns in a matter of weeks but this has been nothing if not advantageous to us. Had we not been able to replace the powder that begun to spoil our efforts would've been in vain, but we mustn't give up something that hasn't yet proven unsuccessful." 

"To that end nothing changes, Guido," Catesby explained. "The change I speak of concerns who sits on the throne of England after our victory." 

His eyes darted to Thomas Percy. 

"But we're already agreed," Guido said. "The King's eldest daughter, Elizabeth. Her marriage to a Catholic noble would make her malleable to our thoughts and our rule." 

"What if there was another child?" Catesby said. He paused a moment allowing time for his words to reach their mark. "A bastard child of the King, notably, yet of Catholic blood. Who better to inherit the Meonia Stone?" 

Guido scoffed. 

Catesby reached into his tunic and pulled forth the green gem lying against his chest. "The legend holds true, Guido. The Meonia Stone is destined for the next Catholic heir to sit on the English throne since my dear cousin, Queen Mary. The child I speak of is the sign we have all been waiting for." 

Guido leaned forward. "Who is this child? Where is he?" 

"Still in his mother's womb." 

Guido straightened, his eyes accusing. "What is this look passing between you and Percy? Who is his mother?" 

Catesby released a long breath. "Lady Bowes carries the King's bastard son, Guido." 

"What? Lady Bowes?" 

Catesby nodded. "She will travel to her estate tomorrow where she'll remain for the final days of her confinement and, God willing, we'll greet our new king in a matter of days. I've already made arrangements to have the child taken to France. The prince will be safe there until our task is complete and with the Meonia Stone in his possession no Catholic will deny him the right to the throne of England." 

Guido Fawkes pursed his lips and drummed his fingers in slow deliberation upon the table. "Lady Bowes? Queen Regent?" 

"Who better to sit on the throne of England than she?" Catesby argued. "Wasn't it Lady Bowes who apprised us of the empty cellar under the House of Lords? If she hadn't we'd still be underground mining a tunnel still far from its completion. Doesn't she fund this attempt? Hasn't she been an invaluable source of information? Doesn't she give us Lord Tredawn whose disappearance serves to keep Lord Salisbury's hounds from our very heels? She will also give us a child, Guido. An innocent. A true Catholic who with this sacred stone in his possession will restore England's one true religion." 

"You're passionate, that I grant you, and I don't doubt Lady Bowes' selflessness Catesby but I do wonder if she serves the cause or herself. There are rumors she conspires with the French King." 

"Lady Bowes sides with us, Guido. You are too suspicious, my friend." 

"Who else knows of this?" 

"None save those about this table." 

"Good. Keep it so." 

**** 

Lady Bowes sat at her window place in her apartment in Whitehall Palace busying herself with her blackwork, her fingers as nimble with needle and thread as her thoughts. 

Lord Salisbury was a man as equally calculating as she, yet in the two months following Lord Tredawn's intriguing disclosure there had been nothing of consequence to speak of save the opening of parliament had been postponed again. 

Coincidence? 

If Lord Salisbury knew of Catesby's intent and in knowing so kept abreast of their plans, why had there been no arrests? Or could it be, as Lord Tredawn suggested, the King's Principal Secretary was merely biding his time? 

"What are you about, my lord Salisbury?" she murmured. 

Her allies were anxious, although Catesby remained steadfast in his conviction when many were ready to concede defeat. Lady Bowes rose from the window place and paced the room. 

The devil take Percy! He hadn't seen sense enough to hold his tongue. Catesby had succeeded in quelling some of the fears borne out a possibility of truth in Lord Tredawn's words but the murmur of discontentment and threat of dissolution were still very much in evidence. 

"Won't you retire, my lady? The rest will be good for you and the child." 

Lady Bowes glanced at Lady Hamilton and offered a faint smile at the concern shown. She was, indeed, quite tired. Besides, their journey to her estate tomorrow would be long and arduous. 

"Yes, I believe I will retire now. Help me from this stay. It stifles me so." 

The unbearable heat and stench of midsummer was long gone and she was grateful for the fresh autumn coolness that now pervaded the halls of Whitehall, yet she must endure the discomfort of her stay for yet another day. Fortunately at Nuneaton she could go without. There would be no curious eyes to see or wagging tongues to betray her condition. 

Her cool gaze lifted to the privy bedroom door as it unexpectedly swung open and Scully Stevens strode into the room. A startled Lady Hamilton released a gasp and rushed forward. 

"You cannot be here, sir! This is her ladyship's most private chamber! You must leave at once!" 

Scully paid Lady Hamilton's tirade no heed. Lady Bowes hadn't flinched at his sudden intrusion and at so late an hour, although she was relieved his unwelcome arrival hadn't made him privy to what she'd succeeded in keeping secret these long months. Lord Tredawn had been most infuriating but Scully Stevens was fast proving to be an absolute menace and one she'd deal with when the opportunity arose. With face calm and her manner composed Lady Bowes acknowledged the man whose presence filled the room. She dismissed Lady Hamilton with a curt nod. 

"I'll grant Mr. Stevens a moment of my time, Lady Hamilton." 

"Yes, my lady." 

The door closed behind Lady Hamilton with a silent click. 

"You've been far too long at sea, Mr. Stevens," Lady Bowes admonished. "You near scare the wits out my lady-in-waiting and invade my privacy without any semblance of courtesy." 

Scully leaned his weight against the wooden door. "And you, my lady?" he grinned. "Do I frighten you?" 

"I own, our first encounter left me rather apprehensive of seeing you again, Mr. Stevens." 

Lady Bowes reached an elegant hand to a thick piece of woven silk hanging against the paneled wall intent on pulling it. "Would you care for some refreshment?" 

Scully declined with a curt shake of his head. "I'd rather conclude our business, my lady, before indulging in anything...pleasurable." 

His gaze indolently roamed the creamy skin of her décolleté and exposed swells of her breasts. 

"Very well," Lady Bowes replied. 

She released the bell-pull and drew her robe tighter about her body, covering her breasts. "What makes you think I'd make anything pleasurable for you?" 

Scully threw his head back and laughed. "I wish I'd the time to take up that challenge, my lady, but I have business to attend. I sail for France tonight." 

"Delay your voyage a few days, Mr. Stevens." 

He pushed himself upright but remained standing at the door. "King Henri expects his chart or a swift conclusion to this matter tonight." 

Lady Bowes inclined her head unperturbed by his threat. She glanced askance at him. "You're a wealthy man acquiring a great deal of your riches at the gambling tables of London, I hear." 

Scully's features sobered. 

"But you're also a smuggler, Mr. Stevens. A mercenary without conscience or principle whose allegiance can be bought by those who are willing to pay most—" 

"Would you offer me money in exchange for your life, my lady?" 

Lady Bowes smiled. "No, Mr. Stevens. Nothing at all so vulgar." 

She sauntered to a table and poured water into a glass. She took a small mouthful. 

"In the Wars of Religion you were accused of treason and of smuggling gunpowder to the Catholic French. You sided against the Huguenots thus betraying the English Crown. What was the price of these Protestant lives?" she mocked. 

"Congratulations, madam." Scully said. 

He reached for a high-back chair and maneuvered it under the door handle making it an impossible task for any who would enter from the outside. 

"Few know my face and fewer still my part in the Wars of Religion. You, my lady, are disturbingly privy to both." 

Lady Bowes smiled coolly. "Still you walk free when the executioner's rope and butcher's knives await to effect your sentence. Had I meant to rid myself of you the King's guard would be but a cry away." 

Scully moved to stand before her, her height for but a few inches matching his. "Which begs the question, my lady, if you don't offer money, what do you propose?" 

"First, I would ask a favour of you, Mr. Stevens." 

Scully raised an eyebrow with obvious curiosity. "Another? What is this favour?" 

"I want you to seduce and dishonor a young woman of neither class nor beauty but who bears the title of Lady. A gypsy of noble birth," she disparaged. "Quite the conundrum." 

"And who is this gypsy maid?" 

"Lady Elina Tredawn." 

"Tredawn—" 

Lady Bowes read the comprehension on Scully's face. "Yes," she confirmed. "But it is a fact she's deliciously unaware of." 

Scully angled his head and narrowed his eyes. "My actions are often as a rule of benefit to myself alone, my lady." 

"Yet I know you will do this for me, Mr. Stevens." 

"And what makes you so sure of that, my lady?" 

"Because you'll find my reciprocation to be one of profound interest to you." 

Scully crossed his arms firmly across his broad chest. "Why does the girl warrant such ruination? Surely the simple capture of such a prey can boast no satisfaction for a woman like you." 

"I never considered you to be a man of conscience, Mr. Stevens," Lady Bowes murmured. 

She stepped closer. "Dishonor the girl and I will give you something much more valuable than the King's ransom you once received from the hands of a grateful French King." 

"And what might that be, my lady?" 

"An introduction to Countess Dowager Hawkridge. Your mother." 

As lithe as a snake Scully reached to encircle his fingers about Lady Bowes' neck but she proved too quick and easily avoided the attempt. He was obliged, however, to lower his gaze to the small blade pressed firmly and purposefully against the fabric of his doublet. Its sharp point pricked his skin. 

With a slight, complimentary tilt of his head and an appreciative glance at the soft mounds of her exposed breasts he ceded Lady Bowes' presence of mind. His voice was hard when he spoke. 

"If you know what's good for you, you'll not meddle in my affairs." 

"Meddle, Mr. Stevens? I never meddle. This is business and we're both in a position where we can be of paramount value to each other. You can help me destroy Lord Tredawn and I can arrange an introduction with Lady Hawkridge. That is, after all, your one true desire, isn't it? To meet the woman who abandoned you to your fate. Who left you in squalor while she lived these many years in comfort." 

The knife twisted slightly as she made her point. "Well, Mr. Stevens? Are we agreed?" 

"When?" 

"Are we agreed?" Lady Bowes insisted, pushing her advantage. 

"Yes, my lady," Scully yielded. "We are agreed." 

"You'll find the girl at a stew in Kennington. Seek out Maggie Marsden tomorrow. She will know what to do." 

Lady Bowes relaxed her wrist and removed the blade from Scully's side. 

"Darby Manderville is the Earl of Hawkridge and heir to Teigne Hall. He intends to announce his betrothal to Miss Anne-Marie Lucas at Yule. I'll arrange an invitation in exchange for Lady Tredawn's seduction but I must insist you tell the gypsy nothing of her father. I wish to inform Lady Tredawn of that tantalizing detail myself." 

Lady Bowes eyed Scully warily. "You do pay heed to all I say?" 

"A brother? I have a brother." 

"Half-brother. You didn't know this?" 

"No, my lady—" Scully turned fully to face her. "I didn't know and until this moment not even the name of my mother. You presumed a great deal this day, my lady," he rebuked. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me or that you exercise any kind of influence over me and never, ever pull a blade on me again for you'll not survive the attempt a second time." 

Lady Bowes returned her blade to her bosom and smiled demurely. She doubted she would ever again be in need of Mr. Stevens. Besides, when she became Queen her first order of business will be to have him hung, drawn and quartered. 

"Where can I find you after the deed is done?" 

"Don't worry, Mr. Stevens. I'll find you." 

**** 

The dawn's light heralded another morning like so many others already come and gone since her revealing encounter with Maggie and each new day brought no answer to her questions. Celeste leant against the doorjamb and drew her shawl tighter about her slender shoulders. She watched the black smoke billow out the open kitchen door. It rose through the air and scattered on the cold winds of change heralding autumn's most definite arrival. She enjoyed the feel of the wind across her face. It wasn't Chichester but right now the cold, gray surroundings of Kennington would do. 

The leaves shook on the trees. Sometimes they fell unnoticed under the blustery onslaught of the hard October rain and sometimes they drifted to the ground like now. Shards of reddish-brown hues danced in the faint morning light. She turned her face from the wide-open space back to Madam Dubois who had brought news of an imminent departure. 

"How long do you intend to hide yourself away down here?" Madam Dubois asked. 

Celeste had exchanged duties with Linette finding grateful refuge from the main parlor and away from the accusing glances and whispering tongues she was sure were present. 

"I don't know what has occurred between you and Maggie," Madam Dubois continued, "but the kitchen is no place for you." 

She could hardly believe Maggie's words but the relish with which they had been spoken left her in little doubt. Lady Bowes who had protected her from the unwanted attentions at court had abandoned her, and left her in servitude to fend for herself in a brothel. 

Celeste closed her eyes. 

What had she done to warrant Lady Bowes' disfavor? 

"Before your arrival Maggie was the most beautiful girl here. Every man wanted her," Madam Dubois said softly. "And now that's no longer the case. I notice the way men looked at you with desire and longing—" 

"Yet I do nothing to encourage their desire," Celeste refuted, opening her eyes. "I don't wish to be desired or pursued in this manner. I don't want to be here. Why won't she believe it? Why won't you believe it?" 

"I believe you, Celeste," Madam Dubois replied. 

The older woman reached out and pushed back the wayward wisp of hair fluttering across Celeste's face. 

"The truth of the matter is, you're a challenge. A beautiful challenge and there's nothing you're meant to do about it. How can you stop a man desiring you? He'll always react to what he sees. Take Lord Edgerton, for example—" 

"I would rather not," Celeste snapped. 

Madam Dubois gave her an indulgent smile but continued nonetheless. "What he sees is the difference between you and Maggie and that is what Maggie envies. Your ability to attract with ease every man she wants and yet choose none." 

"Let me come with you." 

"You know I cannot, Celeste," Madam Dubois returned. "We cannot risk your being seen. Besides, where I go I pray to God you will never, never follow." 

"How much longer must I endure this? Not knowing what is to become of me? Others determine my life while I must sit and wait...and wait...and wait." 

"I know it's not easy but you must remember it's for your own protection that Lord Tredawn keeps you here." 

"Then, where is he? October is almost past. It's four months since I saw him last." 

"Still, you must be patient and so long as you remain here you'll be safe. It's what Lord Tredawn wished above all else. But now I must go now," Madam Dubois said. 

Celeste followed her through the somewhat less smoke-filled kitchen to the front of the house. 

"Let me walk with you," she said." 

Madam Dubois inclined her head. 

They took the small path leading from the house through the woods. On the other side was the river and Madam Dubois' waiting coach. She climbed in. 

"As for Maggie," she said, "you must find a way to resolve your differences. And since she values her place in this house she'll do you no harm. Drive on!" 

Celeste watched the coach trundle away, her heart heavy. Madam Dubois showed her no obvious favoritism but her presence had kept her unharmed. Celeste sighed. As long as she kept to the kitchen she'd be safe. 

However, ou chat na rat regne, where there is no cat the rat is king. 

Madam Dubois had been gone but one day before Maggie gave orders to have the fires in the kitchen and downstairs parlor lighted every morning. This was to be done before the ladies of the stew rose from their beds. Bed warmers were to be prepared every night for each and every bed. 

On the fourth morning Linette kept curiously to her bed pleading an ailment and leaving Celeste to perform the household duties alone. 

She entered the cold parlor and set about lighting the fire, something Madam Dubois only allowed on rare occasion because of the ensuing smoke. Not only didn't it billow out through the chimney built for that very purpose, it lingered on everything. Celeste released a loud and angry breath. Even with Linette's help, she would be scrubbing and cleaning long after the fire had gone out and the ladies were in their beds, which gave her less than three hours in her own before she was required to rise and begin the entire day anew. She threw another piece of hewn timber in the fireplace and audibly cursed Maggie to heaven and hell. 




Treason Ch. 05



A discreet cough had Celeste springing to her feet and spinning to stare at a corner of the room still untouched by the sparse morning light. Her eyes widened and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. 

"Who's there?" she gasped. 

The fire intensified in the grate casting its silent light over the polished wooden floor and driving back the darkness. The air rippled before her and the shadows parted revealing the tall presence of a man moving with catlike grace toward her. Eyes like steady sparks of glowing silver met her startled ones and her heart froze. Disbelief kept her mute. He wasn't dressed with the sumptuousness of the many gentlemen who frequented the stew but he was by far the most handsome man she'd ever seen and that to her dismay included Zev. 

He wore no ornaments or cape despite the coolness of the morning air. She gazed into the familiar eyes. Eyes she'd beheld four months earlier behind the anonymity of a mask. 

A perceptive smile played about his lips. 

"I'm flattered you remember," he acknowledged. 

His hand reached to brush a long strand of dark hair from her face. "I remember you, too. A beauty no mask could ever hide, although I'd not thought to ever see you again, my lady." 

He bowed, gracious and gallant. He took her stiffened fingers between his and raised them to his lips. "That you are who you are merely adds to the surprise of this most fortunate coincidence and ensures me an altogether much more satisfying task," he owned. 

My lady? His manner of address confused her. Releasing a nervous laugh, Celeste pulled her fingers from within his grasp and sought to wipe the soot from her hands on her apron. 

"Who are you, sir?" she asked. 

He afforded her another bow this time sweeping deeply before her, his smile handsome and disarming. 

"Scully Stevens, my lady. At your service." 

"Then, I find your jest in poor taste, Mr. Stevens." 

Celeste stepped from within his reach, and backed away toward the door. "As you can see I clean this house, sir, I'm not mistress of this or any other." 

Scully studied her face. She felt the color rise to her cheeks. 

"Yet you ought be mistress of your own home. Your father didn't exaggerate his description of your beauty. Eyes the color of the freshest honey, lips ripe as the sweetest persimmon and cheeks the blush of a twilight rose—" 

Celeste stopped in her tracks. "I don't have a father," she retorted. "And if I did I don't imagine for one moment he'd say such things—" 

Scully stepped closer taking her fingers again in his. "Yes, you do, my lady," he addressed. "You do have a noble and generous father but I believe in his compliments he spoke of your mother for you have you mother's beauty, my lady." 

Celeste's fingers trembled within his. She frowned and made to move away but Scully tightened his fingers about them, keeping her imprisoned. She flicked him an uncertain glance. His manner seemed sincere as his address, yet her heart refuted this as the truth. 

Scully removed a small locket from his doublet and opened it. "Your father gave me this, my lady. He asked I give it to you should it be necessary to convince you of the truth. Do you recognize the portrait, my lady?" 

Celeste lowered her gaze to the portrait of the young face radiating in the firelight. Tears filled her eyes. The portrait could be of no other. 

"My mother," she whispered. 

She reached for the trinket but her fingers clasped thin air as Scully promptly returned the locket to the confines of his doublet. 

"Will you not believe me now, my lady?" he said. "Lord Hawkridge has sent me to escort you to his home." 

She raised questioning eyes to Scully. "Lord Hawkridge? Is that my father's name?" 

"It is, my lady?" 

"But how—?" 

"How did he know to find you?" 

Celeste nodded. 

"Lord Tredawn has been arrested. He confessed to kidnapping you and where you could be found." 

Celeste could scarce believe it. "Then, I'm free? I'm truly free of this place?" 

"Yes, my lady. You're free." 

"Where's he? Where's my father?" 

"I'm charged to take you to him but not now. He will be pleased to learn you're safe but you cannot greet him in such attire. Allow me to return with a gown and shoes suitable for a lady. And you must bathe the soot from your cheeks. What is it, my lady, the light has gone from your eyes?" 

"I confess, I thought should I hear my father's name I would somehow know it. And if I should not, then my heart would know it," she explained. 

"Would you doubt this truth because your heart no longer recognizes your father's name?" Scully challenged. 

Celeste lowered her gaze in shame of her ingratitude. She doubted this truth because Lord Hawkridge's name failed to stir her heart in any way whatsoever while that of Lord Tredawn's rang loud and true with inexplicable intimacy in its place. 

Scully placed a finger beneath her chin compelling her eyes back to his. "His name is merely estranged to your heart, that is all, my lady. Believe me." 

Celeste brushed her tongue tentatively across her lips. "Yes, of course," she ceded. "When will you return?" 

Scully smiled. "Tonight. Will that serve?" 

"Yes, that will serve." 

"Then, I'll bid you adieu, my lady." 

As Scully left the room and stooped low to avoid the lintel Celeste wrapped her fingers securely around the locket about her neck. A slight feeling of apprehension constricted her heart but she was too happy to pay it much heed.



Treason Ch. 06-07



Chapter Six 

In the silent glow of a solitary burning candle Celeste penned a carefully worded letter to Madam Dubois notifying her of her impending departure. She explained the unforeseen change in her circumstance and the desire to be with her father. The hour had grown late but when she'd finished the task she locked the letter away in her sewing box. 

"And now to bathe the soot from my cheeks," she said. 

She wished to be ready upon Scully's return and thankfully there were none awake to see her leave. She reached for the black woolen shawl lying across her bed and grabbed a cloth. She would go to the river. 

A sharp rap sounded at her door. Celeste gasped as Sally Browne and Maggie Marsden poked their heads into the small room. She groaned inwardly wishing she'd the presence of mind to lock her door. Maggie cast a disparaging glance about the featureless interior. 

"Come," she said. "I want to show you something." 

"Now?" Celeste queried, her eyebrows raised in her surprise. "At this very moment?" 

"Yes. In a few hours it will be too late, my lady." 

My lady? 

Maggie's eyes sparkled and Celeste knew her plans were no longer secret. "How do you know?" 

"Who do you think granted Scully access and ensured Linette kept to her bed?" 

Celeste folded her arms protectively across her chest and raised an agitated hand to her throat, worrying her fingers against her skin. 

"I want bygones to be bygones," Maggie said. "Most certainly since a new life beckons for you. You'll undoubtedly be introduced at court and expected to attend many balls and Masques and perhaps you'll be suitably matched to a Lord or Duke—" 

"What do you wish from me?" 

"That we don't part as enemies, my lady." Maggie sauntered to the attic door. "Accept my parting gift in the spirit with which it's given and I'll be convinced our differences are set aside. That I can expect no reprisals from you and you none from me." 

"What gift?" 

"Maggie offers you the use of her room tonight," Sally beamed. "Come see, what we've done." 

With reluctance, yet willing to show faith, Celeste followed both women out the small, attic room in which she'd spent four uncertain months and down the narrow wooden stairs to Maggie's bedchamber. She entered a room aglow in gentle candlelight. The mild perfume of lavender and the freshness of clean linen scented the air. 

"We know lavender is your favorite scent," Sally said. 

Celeste dared not believe Maggie would agree to such an exchange. She looked toward the bed. Dark red curtains had been drawn about it. 

"I may sleep here?" 

"Yes...and this." 

Sally rushed to the adjoining room and threw the door open, revealing a bath already prepared. "Aren't you surprised?" she giggled. 

"Yes, I'm very surprised." 

She frowned her incomprehension, although she could scarce contain her excitement. She'd been careful with her toilette, yet the thought of a bath these long months remained a distant and cherished longing. How could they know this? 

Scully would soon return with her new gown and shoes and she would be freshly bathed to receive them. With little resistance, she allowed Sally to lead her to the small vanity table next to the window. Perhaps Maggie meant her no harm. 

"How do you know Scully?" Sally asked. She then threw a startled hand to her mouth as if she'd done the unthinkable. 

Celeste took a sip of the sweet wine Maggie had poured from a fine carafe and then another. 

This is most agreeable. 

She waved away Sally's reaction with a listless hand, signaling her affability. 

"It was one night, long ago. At a Masque," she answered coyly. "But that he should've seen enough of me to bear remembering—" 

"Is it he for whom you remain so chaste, my lady?" Maggie teased. 

My lady. 

Celeste chuckled softly. How the tables were turned. She tried to think of Zev but her mind insisted on giving her images of Scully's strong, handsome face. Perhaps her grandmother spoke true after all. It wasn't Zev who she'd call husband, but Scully. 

She took another sip of the sweet wine and angled her head. She felt somewhat giddy but she smiled at her reflection at the possible that she'd always thought impossible. Sally had brushed her hair until it shone past her waist. Her hair was now perfect. 

Celeste raised languorous eyes to Maggie's reflected blue gaze and wondered at the sudden lethargy in her arms and legs. She blinked firmly in an attempt to shake away the rising haze suffusing her senses but she could offer no resistance when her head lolled backward. She fought the sudden heaviness of her eyelids to no avail. The cup was removed from between her leaden fingers and she felt cool hands press against her cheeks. 

Fingers trailed down her neck and shoulders and over her breasts. Her nipples pebbled and throbbed painfully against the rough fabric of her servant's garb. She wanted to cry out and beg release from the pleasure engulfing her but her mind remained locked in a body responding of its own volition. An unexpected chill pricked her skin, offering reprieve from the fiery sense of touch. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt her dress lifted high over her head. She could barely focus, yet was briefly aware of moving. 

Her legs could scarce support her. She stumbled between guiding hands but could send no command to her brain. The scent of lavender grew strong, moist warm air engulfed her skin and then hot water rippled over her body. She slipped deeper beneath the relaxing heat enjoying the rousing sensation washing over her arms and legs. 

Someone held a cup to her lips and she sipped more of the sweet wine. Languid and dazed she surrendered to the intoxicating combination of water and hands massaging her skin. Never had her body felt so nurtured. 

Fingers glided over her shoulders touching her face and massaging her skin, her breasts and her stomach. They trailed her legs to the sensitive spot of her inner thighs and moved higher teasing a path through the light sprinkle of hair at their apex. Celeste shuddered at the delicious sensations shooting from the pit of her belly to the tip of her breasts and moaned her pleasure. Someone placed the cup to her lips again and she greedily partook of the satisfying nectar. 

Fingers toyed with her mouth and traced her lips and her face. Hands stroked her arms and caressed the smooth contour of her hip. Her head lolled back and she submitted to the forbidden craving surging through her. The softest of lips claimed her mouth and the most velvet of tongues gratified hers. She hungrily sought more. The kiss deepened. Ripe with need, her own fingers sought the tender, throbbing flesh between her thighs. 

Fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her head back. Wine emptied into her mouth and spilled down her chin and trickled over her breasts. 

Her weight shifted. She was on her feet. Candlelight blurred her vision and the room spun in heady tempo. She collapsed mercifully into the arms of softness itself. 

Darkness engulfed her. 

Darkness and softness. 

The faint smell of sweet tobacco tickled her nostrils, pleasuring her senses and heightening her desire. The bed moved, depressing beneath the palpable and unmistakable weight of a man. His body covered hers. Her own tingled with feral recognition. 

Scully. 

She tried to speak, to focus on the steady sparks of glowing silver staring down at her but another face emerged through the mists of her mind. 

Zev. 

She smiled at his vision and drifted into his waiting arms. 

His fingers entwined in her hair. His tongue tasted her throat. His hands, his mouth, his breath scorched her skin. His body loomed strong and hard above her. His nakedness pressed against hers. Her arousal escaped on a soft moan eliciting a low chuckle against her neck. Its sound crept along her skin and pooled between her thighs. She was aflame and in all the right places. 

Practiced hands followed eager lips down her body to the tautness of her stomach. Fingers brushed the inside of her thighs moving with skilful touch over her hips and intimate flesh. 

Zev? Scully? 

Her mind no longer differentiated, and her body no longer cared. Her legs parted in eager anticipation. She wanted more. Sensed there must be more. His breath warmed the swollen bud at the apex of her thighs and she blossomed like a summer rose on his tongue. 

Celeste jolted against the heat of his mouth, her action instinctively proffering her throbbing flesh to his frenzied tongue. Shock and desire burgeoned through every fiber of her being. She writhed uncontrollably her burning ache fuelling the delicious intensity consuming her. Then it stopped, the tormenting pleasure of his mouth on her. His weight shifted. He moved above her and settled in the cradle of her hips. She wrapped her arms about his neck opening to him and giving way to a scorching tongue pressed against the seam of her lips. 

Her lips parted in open invitation and his tongue darted inside her mouth. It intoxicated her, the heady mixture of her sweetness on his tongue and all the flavors that were him. He caught her waist clamping her to him. In total control of her, he deepened their kiss and she drank him in. She could scarce breathe from his onslaught. 

The firm length of his manhood inched her open where no man had ever claimed her and she stiffened in momentary panic. He gave her no time to register her fear. With slow patience he entered her, stretching her chaste body about his hard length and allowing her time to feel him, to grow accustomed to his strength. She expelled a tremulous breath, his own breathing harsh against her mouth in strong evidence of his self-control. He pushed deeper. She arched against him, her breasts tightening at the exquisite spasm of pain gripping her. 

In the far recesses of her brain she sensed his hunger and longed to satisfy her own. Her limbs curved tighter about his hips drawing him closer. Silently, she pleaded for the release she knew he could give. His body trembled in her arms and without warning he thrust again sheathing the final length of his manhood deep in her virgin folds. His mouth swallowed her strangled cry. Her hands pushed against his chest. Her brain thawed. 

Lifting his hips, he penetrated her again and again and again. With slow, deep strokes of pleasure he erased the pain of his possession until her body answered his rhythm. 

Intense pleasure burgeoned from their joined bodies and she cried out on the rising wave of molten fire melting her bones and raging through her brain. Her body expanded and exploded and she cried out again as a flaming river of liquid fire surged through her and erupted between her thighs in an unending torrent of pleasure. She finally closed her eyes and relaxed. Her body trembled in his arms. 

"I've wanted you from the very moment I first laid eyes on you, my lady," he whispered against her lips. "Had I known it was you...I would've courted you. Done this in a different way. Marry me, Celeste. Marry me and you'll want for nothing. I swear. Allow me to right this. Be my wife." 

Her eyes fluttered opened and Celeste focused on Scully's handsome face. 

"Be my wife," he repeated. 

Tears rose in her eyes and fell in hot tracks into her hair. She turned her face away in quiet shame. No man would have her now, not even Zev but she could never belong to Scully. Not like this. 

"No," she said. 

Scully turned her face back to his. "Wasn't I kind? Wasn't I gentle?" 

"Leave me be." 

His hands moved down her body molding her tighter to him. His weight shifted once more between her thighs and his manhood pressed against her bruised softness. 

"I cannot, my lady. I have defied a French King to be with you tonight." 

**** 

Robert Catesby and Guido Fawkes were forced to speak again just four days after their meeting in Lambeth. In an upstairs room at The Duck and Drake they scrutinized the low rumor of the crowd, their intense gaze distrustful of every face they could see and vigilant for those they couldn't. 

The tavern in the fashionable Strand district of London had long been a Catholic haunt but who was to say Protestant eyes and ears were not to be found watching and listening from within the shadows. Satisfied there were none conspicuous in their obvious discretion Catesby turned to his companion. 

"The King will soon come to know our plans," he murmured. 

Guido Fawkes remained composed. "How?" he asked. 

"Monteagle has been forewarned by letter this night against attending the sitting of parliament in November." 

"Do you think it was Tresham?" 

"Possible. Monteagle is, after all, his brother." 

"We trusted him too easily. Will we call off our plans?" 

"No. Not if it's not wholly necessary. Monteagle's servant insists the letter is vague in its details and our names don't appear." 

"And this servant? Is he to be trusted?" 

"Yes, definitely. Ward is known to both Thomas Winter and Thomas Wright." 

"Must we alert the others?" 

"No, lest they're made fearful and abandon the cause altogether. Even the Meonia Stone and its legend won't guarantee their unwavering support. Besides, we're not yet suspected. It's still Lord Tredawn who is accredited with plotting to assassinate the King. All eyes are on an army coming from Flanders." 

Guido Fawkes nodded his assurance. "The King returns from Scotland on the first day of November. That's five days from now. We must be sure to give no one reason to suspect us. You should leave with the others. Go to the home of Stephen Littleton in Kingswinford," he suggested, "and ensure all is in readiness there for the ensuing rebellion. It must not fail." 

"What will you do?" 

"I'll remain in London and check the undercroft for any signs of disturbance. With God's grace we'll meet again to celebrate our victory with our Catholic brothers-in-arms. Godspeed, Catesby." 

"Godspeed, Guido," Catesby replied, rising to his feet. 

They clasped each other's arms in a final gesture of farewell and Catesby turned on his heels and walked out of the tavern, pushing his way through the raucous din of drunken bodies and tavern wenches blocking his path. 

Moments later, certain no one had followed his friend outside, Guido Fawkes, too, rose to his feet and left the inn. 

**** 

The waters of the Thames River lapped against the Privy Stairs. King James and his party disembarked from the royal barge to walk through the mazes of courtyards and buildings whose very structure was designed to reflect the hierarchy at court. The King stalked into his Privy Chamber with his Principal Secretary, Lord Salisbury, in his tow. At Lord Salisbury's behest, the Privy Council stayed in the Presence Room while the rest of the party remained in the public rooms. 

"Is this what we are to expect, Salisbury, upon our return? Talk of yet another Catholic conspiracy. Where is Lord Tredawn?" 

"Sire, I would speak to you of another matter," Lord Salisbury said. 

"We are but an hour returned from Scotland and we will away without delay to Royston for a few days of hunting before the sitting of parliament." 

"I would speak of Monteagle, Sire." 

"As we recall you care very little for Lord Monteagle so all you say will without doubt be unfavorable, Salisbury." 

"I err on the side of caution, Sire," Lord Salisbury answered, choosing his words with care. "There is little to trust of a man who professes allegiance to what he has once despised and rejects what he once held dear." 

"Do you forget, my lord Secretary, Essex's Rebellion of 1601 and of Lord Monteagle's part?" 

"No, Sire, I do not." 

"Are we not also guilty of rejecting that which we once held dear? Did we not once afford Essex our support against our predecessor only to again favor that of which we were, for a time, so fervently opposed?" 

"Aye Sire, it's true. But Your Majesty's decisions have always been for the benefit of all England." 

"Well spoken, my lord Secretary. Now, what damning evidence will you have us hear concerning Lord Monteagle?" 

Lord Salisbury proffered a letter. "This letter, Sire, had been delivered five nights ago to Monteagle's address." 

The King's lips twitched in mild amusement. "There's nothing untoward about that, my lord." 

"No, Sire, but its content speaks treason." 

"And, how did you happen upon it?" the King inquired, reaching to take the parchment. 

"Lord Monteagle brought it to me, himself, Sire." 

"And why would he do that, we wonder?" 

The King studied Lord Salisbury's face a moment longer before dropping his gaze to read the letter's content. 

There are plans afoot, grave and dangerous plans that will surely succeed. Heed my warning and do not attend this sitting of parliament for God and man have concurred to punish the wickedness of the times. Parliament shall receive a terrible blow, yet shall not see who hurt them. This counsel is not to be condemned because it may do you good and can do you no harm. The danger is passed as soon as you have burnt the letter: and I hope God will give you the grace to make good use of it, to whose holy protection I commend you. 

"This is not Monteagle's hand," the King remarked at length. 

Lord Salisbury concurred. "It is not, Your Majesty, but I don't doubt Lord Monteagle's cunning behind it." 

"And your reason being—?" 

"The evening Lord Monteagle received this letter he supped at his house in Hoxton, a mile or so outside London. I learned this is something he did on rare occasion. In fact, he'd neither dined nor supped there for more than a month prior to receiving this letter, Sire. Which means it's with incredible fortune and foresight the bearer of the letter happened upon Lord Monteagle at that precise hour or coincidence played no part in this treachery. The letter is addressed for Lord Monteagle's eyes alone, yet he bade his servant, Thomas Ward, read it aloud." 

"You think Monteagle was in search of a witness to the existence of this letter?" 

"Yes, Sire. I do. For the very purpose to cast suspicion away from himself." 

"If Lord Monteagle has a hand in this," the King continued. "Why warn us against this treason?" 

"Sire, I fear history has proven Lord Monteagle to be a man who seeks his own gain. When placed in a position of risk, profit or power he would denounce his faith." 

"And what say Monteagle of this?" 

"I've yet to confront Lord Monteagle, Sire. I thought it best to await Your Majesty's judgment on this development." 

The door opened again and Thomas Howard, the Lord Chamberlain, entered the King's bedchamber. 

"Sire," he acknowledged with a courteous bow. "Forgive this intrusion but Lord Rutherford begs an audience. He says he has news of Lord Tredawn and those plotting against Your Majesty as we speak." 

King James remained pensive as he refolded the letter in his hands. "Let Lord Rutherford come forth." 

Bowing low, the Lord Chamberlain with much deference moved to the chamber door. He opened it and beckoned with a single gesture. A moment later Lord Rutherford entered the King's bedroom. 

"Sire," Lord Rutherford greeted with a deep bow. "I've come because I'm convinced I've seen Lord Tredawn." 

Lord Salisbury spoke harshly. "Where?" 

Lord Rutherford, however, continued his discourse to the King. "Here, Your Majesty, in the streets of London. At least I suspect it was he for he addressed me in familiar manner." 

King James for the first directed his eyes onto Lord Rutherford. "When? When did you happen upon Lord Tredawn?" 

"Three months ago, Sire, as I walked Westminster Bridge in the early hours." 




Treason Ch. 06-07



"August? And you come now with this news? Don't you realize Lord Tredawn is sought for plotting treason against His Majesty?" 

The raise of a royal hand halted Lord Salisbury's angry interjection. 

"I confess, Sire," Lord Rutherford said, "I needed first be sure I was neither mistaken in Lord Tredawn's words nor their significance." 

"And you are no longer mistaken in either?" 

"No, Sire. I'm not. Lord Tredawn warned me not to attend the sitting of parliament, but it'd been suspended anyway. Fortune, however, guided me last night to a meeting sinister in its malicious intent where I learned the very nature of Lord Tredawn's warning foretold danger for Your Majesty." 

"And where did such a meeting take place?" 

"In an undercroft beneath Westminster Hall, Sire. I spied a man rowing the river Thames close to the buildings of Parliament," Lord Rutherford explained. "I watched him enter through an open window, which was suspicious in itself and followed him inside. I heard talk of treason against Your Majesty, years of planning that'll culminate in Your Majesty's death if Your Majesty recalls Parliament November 5." 

"Whom did you hear speak?" 

"I saw no faces, Sire, although I did recognize one voice. That of Lord Tredawn." 

Lord Salisbury stepped forward. "You are not mistaken in this?" 

"No, my lord. His, I would know out a thousand voices." 

"Would you put your name to a confession?" 

Lord Rutherford nodded. "Yes, my lord." 

"Good." 

Lord Salisbury waited until the door closed behind Lord Rutherford and the Lord Chamberlain. 

"Are we to believe Lord Rutherford, Sire?" he asked, narrowing his gaze. 

"Issue no warrant for the arrest of Monteagle," King James replied. "If he spies for the Catholic aristocracy we will first have them all and should Lord Tredawn be among them then we will have our answer, will we not? Organize a search of parliament and have Lord Monteagle accompany you. Take care to note his every reaction. We leave at once for Royston. If there is any development send word." 

"Sire." 

Lord Salisbury bowed from the room, a self-satisfying smile playing about his lips. Everything was going to plan, and infinitely better than he faired. Within a matter of days he would have Robert Catesby in the Tower and the Meonia Stone in his possession. Both would be crushed and Catholic hopes along with it. 

**** 

On the eve of November 5 Lord Salisbury stood in regal robe and liveried collar alongside Lord Monteagle and the Justice of the Peace, Sir Thomas Knyvett, outside the cramped office of the Keeper of the Cellars. He waited with barely concealed impatience for John Whynniard to search through his stack of papers. 

"Ah...here it is," Whynniard said at last. He handed a parchment to Lord Salisbury. "The names of all who have rented cellars this past year, my lord." 

Lord Salisbury quickly handed the list to Lord Monteagle who eagerly perused it. 

"I recognize one name," Lord Monteagle said. "That of a Catholic lord, Thomas Percy." 

"Show me the undercroft," Lord Salisbury directed. 

The Keeper of the Cellars obliged. "This way, my lords," he said. 

John Whynniard led the way through the maze of tunnels. "Only his servant, Guido Fawkes, is there," he added. "Everything must be in readiness for Lord Percy's return for the opening of parliament tomorrow." 

"Lord Percy has never taken his seat in parliament," Lord Monteagle remarked between tongue and teeth. "It's quite strange he should rent a cellar and position a servant in a building he seldom frequents." 

Sir Knyvett pounded a fist on the vault door John Whynniard indicated. "Open in the name of the King!" 

The cellar door opened. The face that greeted them betrayed nothing but he seemed a man shrewd enough and clearly up to no good. 

"Mr. Fawkes, I presume," Lord Salisbury stated. 

"My master returns in the morning for the opening of parliament, my lords. Perhaps if you would return—" 

"Step aside!" 

"Search this place!" 

Sir Knyvett's guards burst into the barrel-vaulted cellar and began a diligent search. Lord Tredawn was hauled roughly to his feet and Guido Fawkes kept under close guard. 

"I must see the King!" Lord Tredawn demanded hoarsely. "It's imperative I see the King! I have no hand in this treason against His Majesty." 

"It's by His Majesty's order that we are here," Lord Salisbury retorted angrily. "To search this place for evidence of Catholic subversion and arrest anyone found within. You, as any other, will be taken to the Tower to await His Majesty's pleasure." 

A guard called out. "I've found gunpowder, my lord Knyvett." 

Holding Lord Tredawn's gaze a moment longer Lord Salisbury turned to the uncovered evidence. Barrel upon barrel of gunpowder. 

"I need but a moment with His Majesty," Lord Tredawn pleaded. "For God's sake! Monteagle! Thomas! You know me! I have no hand in this. None! A moment with the King is all I ask." 

"As a friend I would readily grant you that wish, Samuel, but as the King's magistrate it's a moment I cannot permit." 

"Take them to the Tower," Sir Knyvett ordered. 

Chapter Seven 

Late on the morning November 5 Guido Fawkes knelt under heavy guard and even heavier chains before King James and the King's Privy Council in the Privy Chambers at Whitehall Palace. 

"How could you have the heart to destroy so many innocent people?" the King asked the kneeling man. 

Guido Fawkes raised his battered face, a sardonic smile on his bruised lips and hatred shining from his eyes. 

"A dangerous disease requires a desperate remedy," he retorted. 

"Why so much powder?" Lord Salisbury demanded. 

Guido chuckled almost to himself. "To blow the Scotsmen present back into Scotland and it would take a great deal of powder to do that." 

His insolent gaze had again found the King's who unwaveringly held it. 

"Gentler tortures are to be used on him first," King James instructed. "Et sic per gradus ad mia tenditur," he added in Latin. 

"Aye, Sire," Thomas Knyvett replied in understanding. 

Guido was hauled to his feet to begin the arduous journey back to the Tower dungeons and the tortures it concealed—Et sic per gradus ad mia tenditur, and so by degrees proceeding to the worse. 

"What of Lord Tredawn, Sire?" Thomas Knyvett inquired. 

"Were your orders not clear Knyvett?" Lord Salisbury challenged. "To arrest any and all found in the undercroft!" 

"Yes, my lord, but—" 

"We will await Fawkes' testimony," the King said. "If he confesses Lord Tredawn's innocence then I will pardon him." 

"But if Fawkes' testimony doesn't—" 

"Then Lord Tredawn will be found guilty and will die as all traitors deserve to die." 

"Lord Rutherford's word already proves him guilty, Sire." 

"That is indeed true, Salisbury." 

"Will you not see him, Sire?" Knyvett beseeched. 

"No. And do not ask us again, Thomas, lest you wish to exchange your freedom for his. And Thomas," King James warned, "Lord Tredawn is to be visited by no one." 

"Aye, Sire." 

**** 

To celebrate his escape from death Lord Salisbury urged the King to give a speech to both Houses and expound the two emerging preoccupations of his monarchy—The Divine Right of Kings and the Catholic question. In his speech the King insisted the plot had been the work of only a few Catholics not of the English Catholics as a whole. And he reminded the assembly to rejoice at his survival since kings were divinely appointed and he owed his escape to a miracle. 

But the climate became hostile toward Catholics. Where the King publicly spoke leniency, Lord Salisbury preached intolerance and the Puritans listened. 

Aroused in a wave of national relief at the delivery of their King the people took to the streets in violent celebration, building bonfires and attacking Catholics and burning effigies of the Pope. It was under such frightening circumstances Monsieur Guillot decided to make good his escape to France. 

His carriage came to a swift halt at the north entrance at Nuneaton. The door opened and he alighted with equal urgency. He took but a few steps toward the entrance of the magnificent house before it swung open in a well-timed expectation of this arrival. He removed his cloak and was already extending it toward the housekeeper as he approached and entered. He dropped his cloak in her hands and continued his brisk walk into the Great Hall inquiring after Lady Bowes. 

"My lady is at home, sir," the housekeeper answered, "but she doesn't receive visitors at this hour—" 

"Your mistress will receive me," Monsieur Guillot interjected. He snapped at the housekeeper's hesitation. "Come, make haste!" 

"Yes, sir. This way, sir." 

Monsieur Guillot followed the housekeeper across the Great Hall to the dais and up the wide, sweeping stairs leading to the Long Gallery above. They moved at a rapid pace through the Tapestry Room and through another elegant connecting room at the end of which a closed a door. The housekeeper pushed this door open, and announced, 

"Monsieur Guillot, my lady." 

Monsieur Guillot brushed past the housekeeper. "Please forgive this intrusion, my lady," he said. "And lack of propriety, but there's news. Grave news that I must impart before I leave for Biddesford." 

Lady Bowes beckoned from her seat by the fireplace. "You're most welcome, Monsieur Guillot. Come sit by the fire. Cage, some tea for our guest." 

"Yes, my lady." 

Lady Bowes waited for the door to close. She creased her brow. "The news you bring is to our satisfaction, I hope? Is it done? Tell me! Is the King dead!" 

"No, my lady. The King is not dead," Monsieur Guillot said. "Catesby has been found out and the devil's at my heels. The powder treason has failed and there's growing resentment against all French and Spanish residents in London. Hence my swift return to France this night. Lord Salisbury has been quick to condemn the powder treason as an act of violence perpetrated by exiled English Catholics conspiring with France and Spain." 

Lady Bowes sank back into her chair. "Catesby found out," she gasped. "How? You must tell me. Is he dead?" 

"On the eve of the sitting of Parliament, Lord Salisbury ordered the cellars searched. Fawkes was caught in the guise of Lord Percy's servant. It's only a matter of time before he confesses all. The King has granted his royal permission to Sir William Wade to extract a confession by use of torture and Sir Wade is nothing if not meticulous in his art," Monsieur Guillot scoffed. 

"Catesby, for so far as I know, has fled with a group of Catholics to Worcestershire. I believe they intend to travel to Wales. The King has grown quite paranoid at the thought of this violent plan against him. His hatred of Catholics has tenfold which pleases Lord Salisbury no end—he, who has always held extreme anti-Catholic sentiments. His harsher legislation against your English Catholics will without doubt find royal approval without much resistance, I fear. The failure of the powder treason has caused more harm to your English Catholics," Monsieur Guillot ended. 

Cage arrived with a tray laden with tea and set it on the table between them. When she again left the room, Lady Bowes spoke. 

"And my absence from court? Does it arouse suspicion?" 

"None, my lady. It's the failed powder treason that preoccupies wagging tongues. I'm given to believe your absence at court is deemed most prudent given Queen Anne arrives from Scotland any day now. Although King James does seem to be quite taken with his new courtier, Lord Rutherford." 

Lady Bowes raised a scathing eyebrow. "Is the attraction reciprocated?" 

"Does it matter? I daresay Lord Salisbury is less than pleased with that. But then again it's Lord Rutherford's timely warning that has been credited with saving the English King's life. It was his word, and a letter sent to Lord Monteagle, which sparked a search of the undercroft that led to Lord Tredawn's subsequent arrest." 

"Lord Tredawn has been arrested too?" 

"Yes, he awaits execution for his part in the conspiracy against the King, although there are those loyal to Lord Tredawn and skeptical of Rutherford's convenient rise to power, such as the young Earl of Hawkridge, who are petitioning the King as we speak. Although I doubt their efforts would be enough to save him. King James is without mercy and refuses to hear testimony of Lord Tredawn's innocence." 

Monsieur Guillot reached for his cup of tea and took a long-awaited sip. 

"Then, I'm not discovered." 

"No, my lady. None may visit with Tredawn and those who go to the gallows will not breath a word of your son. A Catholic oath is never broken. Take Father Garnet, he goes to his death for merely acting in his capacity as Catesby's confessor." 

Lady Bowes rose and took a turn about the room. She needed to clear her head. There was only so much bad news she could take in one sitting. The failure of the powder treason could be seen as the end of the Catholic cause and she couldn't expect France or Spain to come to her aid without the final chart in King Henri's possession. Still, all was not lost. She smiled inwardly. She may become Queen of England yet. 

"Lord Tredawn has cost us dear, my lady. He would rather die than divulge the whereabouts of the final part of the chart. Your ploy didn't work." 

"King Henri can still have his victory, Monsieur Guillot," Lady Bowes returned. 

"How?" 

"Lord Tredawn has a fine estate in Cornwall. There are inlets and coves much like those at Nuneaton. King Henri will moor his ships there, at Claerdal Manor. I'll have my cartographers prepare new charts. You see, Monsieur Guillot, Lord Tredawn's death will be of use after all." 

"King Henri will undoubtedly be assured, my lady, assuming he doesn't discover you meant to betray him and steal the crown of England for yourself." 

"I'm sure I may rely on your discretion, Monsieur Guillot?" 

"But of course. I don't relish having to explain myself to King Henri but I must bring him some news, my lady. When will the new charts be ready?" 

"Three years, Ambassador. One year for each chart. Patience is the price of our victory now. King Henri dares not risk sending his ships into unfamiliar waters and I dare not make a move without his support. Until the new charts are complete we must both accept this change as necessary and tactical for our future success." 

Monsieur Guillot nodded his assent. "Good. I will inform him of these changes but I must take my leave, my lady. My ship will not wait for another tide." 

Monsieur Guillot rose and bestowed a parting kiss on Lady's Bowes' outstretched hand. 

"Godspeed, my lady." 

Lady Bowes remained by the fire long after Monsieur Guillot's departure pondering the significance of Catesby's failure. 

Catesby was dead and with him the whereabouts of the Meonia Stone. If Lord Salisbury had succeeded in locating the gem he wouldn't have hesitated in declaring his victory. She knew how desperately Lord Salisbury sought to crush Catholic hopes by destroying the symbol of Catholic faith. A jade stone, which legend says graced King Arthur's sword, Excalibur. 

Following Queen Mary's death another legend arose that the Catholic who would finally secure the English throne would need to possess the sacred stone. Lady Bowes didn't need an ancient gem to help her secure England's crown. She had France and King Henri. 

**** 

"Our agent provocateur is arrested," Lord Salisbury stated. 

Lord Monteagle sat opposite Lord Salisbury in the parlor of his Hoxton home. He eyed the pouch of gold sovereigns lying on the table next to him and raised his glass in salutation before bringing the intoxicating elixir to his lips. 

"What will become of him?" 

"Tresham has outlived his usefulness, Monteagle. Be sure he'll not survive this night to betray either of us." 

"How will it be done?" 

"Poison. Be sure Tresham will enjoy the finest meal tonight." 

"And the others?" 

"Many of the conspirators were caught by the Sheriff of Worcester upon their arrival in Stourbridge. Catesby and Percy were surrounded and shot at Kingswinford." 

"Percy and Catesby are dead?" 

"Yes. Quite." 

"And the Meonia Stone? Did you find it?" 

"No. Catesby didn't have it about his person and those captured know nothing of its whereabouts. Unfortunately that piece of information died with Catesby." 

"Do you really believe the stone came from Excalibur?" 

"It hardly matters what I believe, Monteagle, but what the Catholics believe. An idea, a belief, a principle especially among those who believe themselves oppressed makes a man invincible. Take away that idea, belief or principle then he is as any other. Without that green stone that symbol of foolish hope," Lord Salisbury scoffed, "I daresay no Catholic will be brave enough to risk another plot as daring as this proved to be." 

"Then, the legend dies with Catesby." 

"Aye, it does." 

Lord Salisbury drew upon the cigar he held between his fingers and watched the smoke curl through the air. 

"Damn fine idea from Drake," he commented. An appreciative smile of a private joke tugged at his lips. "Your choice of Catesby for this was an excellent one. Impetuous, passionate, proud, impressionable...foolhardy." He gave a satisfied chuckle. 

"Yes..." Monteagle quietly agreed. He sipped again from his glass. "He proved quite susceptible to every talk of Catholic dissatisfaction. We deliberated for hours how to avenge ourselves on a Catholic King who betrayed the Catholic people." 

"The beauty of it all is he trusted you." 

"Not quite, my lord Secretary. The details of his powder treason plot were not given to me. He had reservations about me and considering the outcome they were not entirely unfounded." 

Both men laughed. 

"He took the bait, didn't he?" 

"He believed that stone would help them find the Catholic destined to reclaim the English throne." 

Lord Monteagle put his glass to his lips and drained the contents. "With such a belief, who would doubt victory?" 

"Come, come my lord," Lord Salisbury continued. "You do not show remorse, I hope. Did you not once condemn the Catholic religion as backward?" 

"Indeed, I did, my lord. England's climate changed toward the Catholics and I, showing both foresight and compromise, chose the side of my King but I cannot forget Catesby and I were once firm friends. Is the King satisfied?" 

"Very." 

"It took Sir William Wade but four days to make the traitor Fawkes reveal his true name and recount the events of this conspiracy, although Sir William was careful to note the names of those traitors already dead or known to us. Your name will not appear on any confession or in any letter, Monteagle." 

"Nor your own, I'll wager, my lord Salisbury." 

Lord Salisbury chuckled. "Indeed not, my dear friend. Indeed not." 

Lord Monteagle reached for the bottle of rum and refilled both their glasses. 

"What is it, Monteagle? All goes to plan and yet you show concern." 

Monteagle stroked his reddish beard with thoughtful fingers. A frown pinched his brow. "What troubles me, my lord, is Tredawn's part in this?" 

"Aye," Salisbury concurred. "I'm convinced Lord Tredawn had no knowledge of our game, yet it seems he was embroiled in a game of his very own. Never a good thing to get caught, mind you." 

"I can't believe him guilty of any part of this treason." 

"He was found with the traitor Fawkes and an inordinate amount of powder. What other evidence is needed." 

"He contested his hands were tied and his mouth gagged." 

Lord Salisbury shrugged. "An elaborate piece of theatrics, Monteagle." 

"You know he's not guilty of any part of this, my lord," Monteagle suggested. 




Treason Ch. 06-07



"I know nothing of the kind." Lord Salisbury barked in his impatience. "Besides, if we start investigating this we're apt to draw attention to ourselves. We must tread carefully lest we meet the same fate." 

"Hence the swiftness of these trials?" 

Lord Salisbury nodded. "All those captured will be tried in the New Year. January should be a good time—right after Christmas. I hear Northampton is eager to prosecute, although none can be in doubt of the verdict. Have no fear Monteagle we've achieved our goal. The Catholics will never again be trusted." 

Lord Monteagle raised his glass again. "A toast, my lord, to your successful conspiracy. What better way to get the King to severely prosecute the Catholics in England than have him believe they'd tried to kill him? I believe the King is now ready to enact even the harshest of your anti-Catholic legislation." 

"The King has always been fearful of a violent death. His childhood in Scotland lent itself nicely to this little plan." 

Lord Salisbury drew deep on his cigar and settled deeper into his chair.



Treason Ch. 08-10



Chapter Eight 

Celeste sat in Madam Dubois' winter parlor waiting for Lord Rutherford to finally turn around and address her. A man she'd seen but once, six months earlier in the privy garden at Lambeth Palace. She closed her eyes briefly. She'd been young and innocent then. 

She opened her eyes onto the silent, pensive figure, his fist clenching and unclenching in disciplined fashion at his back and his gaze locked onto the dark and quiet street. She shifted on her chair in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness in her back. She'd maintained the same position far too long. She bit down softly on her lower lip and wondered if he would notice if she left the room. She jumped at the sudden focus of his clear brown eyes on hers. If he noticed her discomfiture, he ignored it. 

"I've come to offer you a way out of the predicament which now faces you," he said. 

Celeste swallowed her panic and sought to compose herself. She pressed a hand inadvertently to her stomach. He couldn't know. She swallowed her panic and fought the urge to fidget or twiddle with her hands. She kept her gaze fixed on Lord Rutherford's grave countenance. 

"Predicament, my lord?" 

"You may well have heard of Lord Salisbury's successful unmasking of the powder treason." 

She nodded. 

"Those involved will soon be caught and executed and I fear Lord Tredawn will be among them. His duplicity has been proven beyond all doubt and I can only offer you my deepest sympathies." 

Celeste frowned. "What a strange thing to say, my lord. Why should you offer me any sympathy at all? Has Lord Tredawn no family of his own to mourn his death or remember his name no matter the unerring shame to both." 

"Yes, he does, my lady. That is precisely why I am here." 

Lord Rutherford drew a deep breath in and waited. Celeste shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. Something in his eyes was telling her...what she already knew. She pressed her hand tighter against her stomach. How could she be sure? She'd been afraid to believe her heart and it had left her helpless in Scully's arms. Yet if she believed her heart now it could unleash an ache unlike any she'd already known. 

She shook her head denying his unspoken words and postponing her pain. 

Lord Rutherford retrieved a letter from within his doublet. 

"Lord Tredawn bade me give this letter to you should the need arise, my lady." 

My lady. At least Scully hadn't lied about that. 

"Read the letter," Lord Rutherford prompted. 

Her fingers shook as she reached for the folded piece of paper. "If you would allow me some privacy, my lord." 

Lord Rutherford bowed curtly and moved to the far side of the small room. 

She unfolded the letter and her brow softened at the familiar script. She read her father's words and her heart broke. 

"I must go to him at once!" 

She sprang to her feet and hastened to the door, her tears falling down her face. 

Lord Rutherford intercepted her flight. "No!" 

"I must see my father!" 

His fingers tightened about her wrist. "If you wish to live you'll never on your life acknowledge Lord Tredawn in any way. The King is unforgiving and his Privy Council counsel stringent measures. All relations to Lord Tredawn and the families of those seven destined to hang alongside him are to be found and executed. You must forget your father, lest you seek to burn at the stake!" 

"There are few who know I am his daughter," Celeste whispered, her eyes wide in her confusion. "I need not—" 

"And is that not a few too many considering the price of betrayal, my lady?" 

"Who would betray me? You, my lord," Celeste rejoined. 

"Do you think that is the reason I'm here, to betray you? Never. But saving the King's life does afford me more privileges than not, my lady." 

He released his hold on her arm and knelt down on one knee in front of her. 

"Your father wanted me to protect you, to provide you with a home and ensure you wanted for nothing. I can do all those things and more, my lady, if you consent to be my wife." 

Celeste pulled away startled and angry, saddened and uncertain. She looked from the man kneeling at her feet to the door and back again. Her teeth worried the flesh of her bottom lip. What was she to do? Lord Tredawn was her father and yet she would not be permitted to see him one last time. 

"I must see my father. Please, my lord. I beg you. The King will listen to you, will he not? All London speaks of your favor—" 

"Even I don't dare go to the King with any detail of a past association with Lord Tredawn," Lord Rutherford interjected. 

His irritation scarce concealed he rose to his feet leveling his eyes on Celeste's rounded ones. "You must forget him, if you value your life." 

"Then why tell me any of this? Why show me my father's letter? Wouldn't it have been kinder to leave me ignorant of the truth?" 

"I am an honest and sincere man, my lady, in whom I trust you can find a friend and love as a husband." 

Lord Rutherford released a deep breath. "You don't do me the honor of answering my proposal." 

Celeste lowered her gaze. How could she contemplate marriage at such a moment when her father awaited execution for treason against the king? 

"I admit I'm somewhat overwhelmed by your unexpected offer, my lord," she heard herself say. "Pray, do me the honor of allowing me a few days to consider your proposal." 

"Of course. I appreciate there's much to understand in a single moment. I'll return within the week for your answer, my lady." 

He bowed and brushed his lips across her hand. "Until then." 

Celeste couldn't find the courtesy to address him. Her mind was too numb and her heart in mourning. 

Madam Dubois entered the parlor. 

"I passed Lord Rutherford in the hall. He didn't seem as pleased as he was upon his arrival." 

The entrance door slammed shut. 

Celeste moved toward the window and watched the thin man draw his crimson cloak tighter about his rounded shoulders as he strode with long purposeful steps toward a waiting carriage. 

"Lord Rutherford sought my hand in marriage," she murmured. "But I could give him no answer." 

Lord Rutherford stopped briefly and cast a swift glance at the window before stepping into the coach. 

Celeste lowered her gaze to the letter she held between her fingers. She raised her eyes once more to the departing coach. 

"How can I marry a man whose word sentenced my...father...to death?" 

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. "My father. He is my father," she said, voicing her disbelief. "Lord Tredawn is my father and I am Lady Tredawn, his daughter. This is the cruelest of jests." 

At Madam Dubois' silence she spun about. "You knew?" she accused. 

Madam Dubois nodded. 

"When Lord Tredawn brought you to me I saw a man who cared very much for his daughter and wanted to keep her safe. Lord Rutherford is in a position to offer you his protection. He's the new Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He's powerful and rich and he has the King's ear." 

Celeste released a shaky breath. "You cannot deny there's something to distrust in a man who first testifies against, and then conveniently rises to the position once held by, my father." 

"We neither of us know what has truly taken place these last weeks. Since the discovery of the powder treason London has been resonant with rumors and hearsay. It's hard to know what to believe or whom. But your circumstances are such that you need think of yourself and the child that grows in you, Celeste." 

Madam Dubois drew closer, her voice soft and tender. "For the life of me I don't know what possessed you to take one of the most dangerous men in England to your bed. Scully Stevens is a man who's given to keeping what he reasons is his. If he learns you're with child he'll never let you go. You know that, don't you?" 

Celeste bowed her head and stared at her hands. "I know," she replied. 

"Then, listen to me," Madam Dubois continued. "Lord Rutherford wants you to be his wife. Accept him. Accept the life he offers you even it that does mean you can never again acknowledge Lord Tredawn in any way. You'll have Lord Rutherford's protection and by right the King's. Your child will have a name and you'll be safe. Scully will never hurt you again." 

Celeste gave a faint smile: "So, you were listening," she parried in gentle admonishment. 

"I wouldn't have you suffer my life," Madam Dubois returned. She embraced Celeste in her arms. "I wouldn't have you follow me shunned from society and forever wondering the fate of your child. You have been given the chance I was not, to return to society, to marry and raise your child. But to do that you need to put aside what has gone before and embrace what awaits you. What better protection can you ask than as the wife of the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Ireland?" 

"If I married Lord Rutherford I will be forever in his debt and at his mercy." 

"But alive, my dear, and your child too. Think of that, Lady Tredawn, before you refuse his hand." 

**** 

Celeste replaced the carefully penned letter in her sewing box, although she knew its content by heart. 

'...Mr. Peele of Harrogate is a man I trust more than my closest friend. He will provide the confirmation I know you must seek of my testimony, my daughter...' 

Her gaze shifted to the small table at the side of her bed. Her father's ring still lay hidden after all this time among her private things. 

For her own sanity she hadn't wanted to believe the possibility of such a connection but how could she continue to deny it when Lord Rutherford had brought her such irrefutable proof of it? Lord Rutherford who offered her a chance to live not in exile or in fear but as the rightful mistress of her father's home. She swiped away the solitary tear falling down her cheek. Whether or not her father was considered a traitor no longer mattered. He was her father and she couldn't help but grieve for him. In his final hour his thoughts were of her and nowhere in his letter had he tried to claim his innocence or decry his fate. 

'If death be the price I pay to protect you then so be it,' he'd written, 'for my death will rectify all that is passed, and knowing that I'm content. God speed, my daughter.' 

The door to the attic room was thrown open and Maggie Marsden flounced in startling Celeste from her reverie. She cast a suspicious glance at the sewing box on the bed. 

"What are you doing?" 

Ever since the night with Scully the extent of Maggie's resentment had become ever more apparent. Careful not to create more suspicion than already present Celeste casually closed the lid of the sewing box and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. "My dress needed repairing," she said. "It's now done." 

Maggie's gaze swept her from head to toe. She smirked. "Lady Bowes has arrived and will speak with you, at once," she announced. 

Celeste swallowed her anger, her hurt and her pride. How was she to greet the woman whom her father deemed in his letter an enemy of the King and of England? A woman who had lied to her and used her to weaken her father's position, and then discarded her when she'd been of no further use. 

She took a deep breath and rose from the bed and wondered at the knowing smile tugging at the corner of Maggie's lips. Celeste touched a hand to her stomach and raised her chin. She had to be strong. 

Maggie followed her in silence out the room and down the winding attic stairs to the first floor. The second flight of stairs led to the hall. The fireplace crackled with flame and welcoming heat. 

Her eyes darted nervously to Madam Dubois who stood rigidly in a corner. She then focused on Lady Bowes seated at the table in the center of the room. She wanted to turn and run but Maggie stood behind her blocking the small corridor to the stairs. 

What am I to say? 

Lady Bowes calmly stood. Compassion etched her features and her voice was soft with understanding. "My dear, Celeste," she said. 

Celeste pressed her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She would've undoubtedly fallen for Lady Bowes' performance had her father not detailed every facet of her character. She steeled herself against Lady Bowes' fleeting embrace. 

"I'm so very glad to see you safe and well, Celeste. You cannot imagine the grief I've suffered these many months and the guilt I've felt at your abduction. You were under my protection," she said, "and I failed you in the most despicable way." 

Lady Bowes glanced in disdain about the parlor. "As soon as I learned of your whereabouts I lost no time in coming here. My only regret is that it has taken so long to find you. Can you forgive me?" 

Celeste shrugged her shoulders in her apathy. "You must not distress yourself, my lady. I'm quite well." 

"Then, you have not been hurt?" 

Celeste turned her gaze to Madam Dubois with a tentative smile. How could she justly blame Madam Dubois for Maggie's trickery? She could no more do that than own to being dishonored and with child. 

"No," she replied at length. "Madam Dubois has kept me safe when it was in her power to do so." 

"Leave us! Both of you!" 

Madam Dubois' gaze was wistful and hesitant but Celeste nodded her assurance. She would be fine. She would be more than fine. Madam Dubois proffered a final comforting smile. 

"You," Lady Bowes emphasized with slow deliberation, "don't seem very pleased to see me. I would assume after these many months you would show a modicum of gratitude to those wishing to help you." 

Celeste straightened her back and squared her shoulders. She fixed her gaze on the displeasure marring Lady Bowes' countenance. 

"If I was in doubt of your intention, my lady, I would've prostrated myself at your feet but since my father is to be executed I can't possibly be of further interest to you. We are neither of us further served by your charade." 

"How long have you known this?" 

"But a few days. Lord Rutherford was kind enough to deliver my father's final words. He explained everything to me." 

Celeste swallowed back her tears. "I was his Achilles' heel, wasn't I? You knew who I was and used me against my father. Well, will you deny it?" 

Lady Bowes moved forward. "Bold words but take care and heed to whom you speak them." 

"I do, indeed, my lady." 

"Would you go against me?" 

"My father's death is on your hands, my lady, and I'll not rest until I've avenged him." 

"You are indeed a foolish child," Lady Bowes chided. "But I would warn you not to meddle in affairs that do not concern you." 

"It was your pretence and your artfulness that dragged me into this," Celeste retorted. "I lived in ignorance, my lady, and I wish to God I could return to it for the pain you cause me is a thousand times worse than the cold emptiness I once knew." 

"And what do you mean to do that Lord Tredawn could not?" Lady Bowes mocked. "Go to the King. It is the word of an untrustworthy gypsy against that of his mistress. The King will not hear you. Besides, your name alone is enough to see you hang the moment you step foot in his court." 

"There is one who will hear me, Lady Bowes," Celeste boasted. "Lord Rutherford seeks my hand in marriage and I intend to accept him. As my husband and one who has the king's ear he will help me. You see, I have learned a great deal during my stay here, my lady. Maggie has taught me well." 

"You have learnt nothing," Lady Bowes shot back. She stepped closer. "What of Scully?" she snapped. "Didn't he also teach you well?" 

Celeste shrank backward. 

"You are no match for me, child. Did you think I wouldn't know you carry Scully's bastard?" 

"H...How—" 

Fear clinched at her heart. She could barely speak or breathe. 

Lady Bowes took another menacing step closer. "What do you think Lord Rutherford would say if he found out you carried another man's child and that you would trick him into believing the child his? Would he be so quick to make you his wife, I wonder? I think, not." 

A cry of anguish tore from Celeste's throat and she staggered backward. Tears of helplessness and frustration slid down her cheeks. 

"Well? Do you think he would come to the aid of a gypsy whore?" Lady Bowes insisted, studying her leisurely. "You really are quite a naïve child. Did you think to best me when your father could not? You, still, have a great deal to learn before you can win this game." 

She placed her hand against Celeste's stomach and leaned closer, her lips brushing her ear. "You may not care for your own life but what of your child? What would you do to save him? All I need is time. Time for him to grow before I snatch him away from you." 

Celeste pressed her back against the wall and expelled a frantic breath. Lady Bowes chuckled. 

"Come now, Lady Tredawn," she taunted. "Didn't you have all the answers?" 

"What do you want from me? The chart? My father told me you would come for it." 

Lady Bowes stepped back and waved a dismissive hand in the air. 

"I no longer have need of the chart. Besides, it proves nothing but I can ill-afford your wagging tongue. You know a great deal too much." 

She returned with slow measured steps to the center of the room. "That's why you will refuse Lord Rutherford's hand in marriage and accept the man I have chosen for you. Joseph Heslopp is a man of means, not only does he own a number of businesses in the Americas he has a large plantation somewhere in the Indies. I'm sure you won't be disappointed. You could be married before Christmas." 

The Indies? The Americas? Celeste shook her head. "I cannot," she whispered. 

Lady Bowes turned on her heel and angled her head in quiet contemplation. "Yes, you can," she murmured, "and what is more, you will. You'll refuse Lord Rutherford's hand in marriage and accept that of Joseph Heslopp. You'll do that or your bastard will die. Today, tomorrow...next year but be sure you will there to watch him die." 

Celeste's tears rolled freely down her cheeks and without restraint. "You must hate my father very much? To plan his ruin and seek mine." 

"Lord Tredawn brought his demise upon himself. I offered him life, my dear," Lady Bowes said. 

She closed the gap between them a second time and traced a finger down Celeste's tear covered cheek. "Your father chose death. What will you choose?" 

**** 

Two days later Maggie flounced into her room announcing Joseph Heslopp's arrival. Celeste moved to the wash table and took a moment to gaze at her reflection in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall. 

She'd grown thinner these last few days, her constant sickness expelling whatever food she did manage to ingest. She poured water from a jug into the washbowl and submerged her face into the fresh coolness. 

God, give me strength. 

She dried her face and touched her fingers to her hair. 

You'll have to do, Elina. 

Celeste entered the hall and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. This time the fireplace hadn't been lit. She stared at the closed door in front of her. This had nothing to do with love. She hadn't been in love with Lord Rutherford and she doubted she'd ever have those feelings for any man. But Madam Dubois had been right. She would be alive and her child too. She pushed open the door and entered the winter parlor. 

She eyed the portly man standing before her and a wave of nausea swept over her. A slow smile crept across his ruddy-cheeked face as he inclined his large, round head in deference. She would've laughed at his attempt at gentlemanliness had her situation been less than dire but she dutifully acknowledged him, forcing herself to be civil to Lady Bowes' choice of husband. If she had any doubts about Lady Bowes' contempt then Joseph Heslopp was undeniable evidence of it. 




Treason Ch. 08-10



Scully Stevens had shamed and humiliated her when her mind had been robbed of feeling. She would gladly numb her senses to mirror death rather than be conscious of Joseph Heslopp's possession. 

Joseph tilted his chin a tad higher and scrutinized her through half-closed eyes. "Do you know who I am?" 

Celeste couldn't take her eyes off his hideous over-sized under lip glistening with saliva. Her stomach roiled. It could've been on account of her delicate situation but the distasteful odor of beer about him and obvious disregard of his personal toilette contributed without doubt to her queasiness. 

"This cannot be. This must be some mistake," she said, voicing her inner turmoil. 

"You are Lady Tredawn, the gypsy, aren't you?" Joseph raised an eyebrow in his obvious awareness of that fact. 

Her nausea swept over her and Celeste turned away and opened the door. "I must leave." 

For all his bulk, he hastened after her blocking her path before she could disappear down the small corridor. He stood firm, his hands on his hips and his feet planted firmly apart. 

"You are Lady Tredawn, aren't you?" he repeated, breathing down upon her. 

Celeste nodded. She swallowed hard in an attempt to stem her rising nausea. "Then, my being here is no mistake." 

"Please, allow me to pass. I must leave. I'm ill." 

She made to step around him but Joseph's large hand reached out and his fingers curled about her upper arm, digging hard into her flesh. He pulled her back into the room, ignoring her choking gasps of protest. 

His eyes traveled the length of her body. "Lady Bowes told me you were headstrong but never the mind I said. I like a woman with spirit." 

He swept his thick tongue across his lips. "If you are the dutiful wife you'll want for nothing." 

He released her and Celeste scurried across the room putting much needed distance between them. To her dismay Joseph Heslopp followed suit. Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks at the evident hunger in his eyes. 

"I've brought you a present," he said. 

He burrowed his broad fingers into the small pouch at his side. "Here. Never let it be said Joseph Heslopp is a stingy man." 

He held the small gold ring he'd retrieved for her to see. "It's beautiful, isn't? Go on. Put it on. Think of it as an early Christmas present." 

"Mr. Heslopp—" Celeste demurred. 

"Joseph," he insisted. "You will learn to call me Joseph. Are we not to become man and wife?" 

The very idea of sharing his bed was enough to make her unwell and an overwhelming wave of sickness gripped Celeste once again. This time she made good her escape and raced from the room no longer caring what he may think of her. She sped up the stairs back to her attic room. 

A moment later the attic door burst open and Joseph Heslopp strode in heaving and panting from his exertion. 

She spun around her sickness forgotten. "Get out!" 

"You are in no position to dismiss me. As my wife you'll belong to me and it is I who will decide when you leave my presence." 

Celeste swallowed nervously. The charade was over. She took an instinctive step from him and clasped her hands against her stomach. 

"I'm not your wife, sir, nor will I ever be," she retorted. 

Joseph Heslopp took three long strides toward her and with more agility than she'd accredited him with he caught her wrists in the fleshy mold of his hands. He tugged her firmly against him. 

"You have no choice, my lady," he breathed against her mouth. "You can marry me and become mistress of my plantations or work the fields as my slave. And when your bastard child is born it will work alongside you. And if I so declare you will bear lots of my children to help you work the fields. You see, either way you will come with me and I will have you." 

Celeste's eyes widened even further. She shrunk from him. 

"My child—" She gasped. "You know?" 

"I thought that might get your attention. Lady Bowes was kind enough to tell me everything. A woman in your position can ill afford to be particular. You have every reason to be grateful to me," Joseph spat. "There'll be none other forthcoming to offer you marriage with the child of another growing in your belly." 

He imprisoned both of her wrists in one large hand and tore at the bodice of her gown. "I'm not a patient man, my lady." 

Sensation gradually returned to Celeste's stunned senses and she felt the cold, wet assault of Joseph's hungry mouth at her breast. Shaking off the disabling shock engulfing her she fought her assailant in earnest. She pushed at him and pummeled his back with her fists. She screamed for help. The blow to her cheek caught her by surprise knocking her head back with its force. The imploding sound rang in her ears and pain registered through the black haze covering her eyes. 

"Your show of innocence is commendable, yet hardly apt," Joseph hissed in her ear. "I hear you're much versed in the art of pleasing a man surely you'll not deny your husband a taste of such knowledge," he cajoled. The wetness of his tongue swiped the shell of her outer ear and she shuddered. 

The staleness of his breath filled her nostrils and the nausea that threatened to engulf her finally found form. Her body shook with the violence of its expulsion. Uttering an oath Joseph Heslopp threw her from him. 

"Get yourself cleaned up," he shouted. 

Celeste surged to her feet and ran to the washbowl. She reached for a rag and submerged it in the cool water she'd used earlier. With shaking hands, she held the cloth against her cut lip and her brow and then started to cleanse away the traces of her sickness. 

With a deep sigh she peeled the remnants of her soiled dress from her shoulders conscious of Joseph Heslopp's lewd gaze. Her fingers trembled some more. Again she submerged the cloth in the soothing water. She washed her neck and her breasts. She glanced at her reflection. 

Her hands covered her breasts as Joseph sidled up behind her. 

His voice sliced through her. "Don't! I want to look at you. Lady Bowes has indeed chosen well." His voice grew hoarse. "You're without a doubt the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." 

He stepped closer until his chest touched her back and reached about her to cup her breasts. Celeste shook at the telling glint reflected in his eyes. 

"Turn about," he ordered. 

His stale, odious breath seared her neck. Vulnerable in her nakedness and defenseless in his embrace, Joseph raised her face to his, and his mouth descended upon hers. Saliva escaped his mouth and ran down her skin. An involuntary shudder of disgust passed through her. 

She placed her hands at his waist steadying herself in her faintness and felt the blade at his side. Surprise, gratitude and relief swelled through her as she curled her fingers about the handle. She wrenched it free of its sheath and tore her mouth from his. 

Joseph lowered his gaze to the sharp point raised between them. With an almost complimentary glance at her he loosened his grip about her waist and stepped backward. He snorted his derision and wiped his mouth with back of his hand. 

"Now what, my lady?" 

"Now, you leave." 

He shrugged his heavy shoulders and stood his ground. "No," he said. The low sound rumbled defiantly from within the barrel of his chest. "I'm going to enjoy making you pay for this." 

She crossed an arm across her naked breasts and raised the blade higher. Despite her resolve her hand began to shake. 

"Stay back," she warned. 

Joseph took a slow step forward, his eyes unwavering on her face. "Or what?" he smirked. "Will you kill me? Have you ever killed a man and hear him take his last breath? I have." 

His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned. She anticipated his move. 

Joseph darted toward her, an arm raised to strike her but she was quick. She sidestepped his attack and ducked beneath his arm as he lunged forward. 

She raced for the door and then stopped at the enormous crash behind her. Joseph lay motionless on the floor, broken pieces of washbowl and jug scattered about him, his head bloodied where he'd fallen. 

The door opened and Maggie entered. She crossed the room quickly and calmly and knelt beside Joseph Heslopp. 

"Is he dead?" Celeste whispered. Her eyes widened in horror. "What am I to do?" 

"Be quiet! I must think." 

The sharpness of Maggie's tone brought Celeste from the verge of the hysteria threatening to engulf her. "He fell," she murmured. "He fell. It happened so fast." 

Maggie rose again and prized the knife from between Celeste's stiffened fingers. "I know but you must go with Sally now. Sally will take care of you. Don't worry. I know what must be done." 

"You'll help me?" 

Maggie pushed Celeste out the door. "We will help each other, my lady," she said. "Take her and get her cleaned up," Maggie instructed. "And then send word to Lord Rutherford. Tell him he must come at once." 

Chapter Nine 

Lady Bowes stared out the coach window as it trundled the old cliff road leading to Hawkridge. She gazed out onto the passing sea shimmering in the intense moonlight, her thoughts on the eight Catholic men condemned to die for their Faith. What other outcome could there be under such Protestant rule. Sir Everard Digby, Robert Winter, John Grant, Guido Fawkes, Thomas Winter, Ambrose Rookwood, Robert Keyes and Thomas Bates, Catesby's servant—all dear, loyal friends. A slow tear trickled down her cheek at the thought of Lord Percy and Catesby who had been shot and killed at Kingswinford. 

Poor Catesby. 

Monsieur Guillot had been justified in his haste to leave London. The climate had changed toward all Catholics. Their hopes of greater freedom to worship as they chose would never be realized as long as King James reigned. Lord Salisbury hadn't been satisfied with just the King's expulsion of Catholic priests. He wanted to remove Catholicism from England completely and with the failed powder treason as an example of Catholic insurgence he could quite easily convince the King of this necessity. 

She'd left Nuneaton and sought refuge at Sticklepath, an old country estate in Devonshire. It belonged to Lord Huntingdon who was in Indies overseeing his plantations. The estate was close to the sea and afforded a quick escape to the Americas should the need to arise. Although Lord Salisbury had issued no warrant for her arrest. This had puzzled her. As did his prompt action against Catesby and the convenient unveiling of the powder treason a mere few hours before Guido Fawkes would've lit the fuse. 

Lord Salisbury had also been apprized of all the names of the conspirators. Tredawn hadn't lied. There had been one among them, an agent provocateur, who spied for Salisbury. Catesby had gone to his death without having divulged her part in the powder treason. She could continue her work for France without detection. 

The coach door suddenly wrenched open and a cold draught of air wafted against her face. It took a moment for Lady Bowes to realize the coach had slowed. It rocked alarmingly beneath the weight of the man who climbed in next to her. 

Scully. 

"You look almost startled, my lady," Scully said, closing the door firmly behind him. "Did you not specify this hour and this night?" 

He settled across from her, the cold air about him fanning her cheeks. 

"There's much that preoccupies my mind, Mr. Stevens. I lost track of the hour." 

"And pray, what could weigh so heavily on your mind that makes you lose track of the hour, my lady?" 

Lady Bowes shifted uneasily in her seat and drew her long cashmere cape tighter about the low-cut red gown she wore. 

"Is it the thought of Queen Anne who takes residence in Whitehall Palace or Lord Salisbury whose zealousness against the Catholics has driven you to hide away in the country?" 

"I do not hide, Mr. Stevens. I merely do not care to be around those planning Catholic executions." 

Scully shrugged and leant back into the dappled shadow. "I own, I didn't expect you to show, my lady." 

"And why not? Did you think I would renege our bargain? I confess I'm anxious to see Lady Hawkridge's reaction upon meeting the son she disowned in favor of another." 

The moon's light fell across Scully's features highlighting the scowl marring his expression. "As am I, my lady. As am I, yet you kept me waiting. Where were you? It's nigh two months since we last spoke." 

"Did you miss me, Mr. Stevens? I'd have thought the gypsy would have kept you preoccupied." 

"You know she did not." Scully leaned forward, his face inches from hers. "In fact, my second attempt to visit the stew was greeted by the presence of the King's soldiers. I wonder, was my lady jealous?" 

She heard the amusement in his voice. "I've no idea of what you're talking about, Mr. Stevens. Perhaps, it's your precious Lady Tredawn who wishes to see you hang by the neck." 

Scully chuckled and shook his head in his amusement. "You set the King's soldiers after me, my lady. Own it. In the hope of...what?" he prompted. 

"Preventing what I realize I could have never prevented." 

"And that is, my lady?" 

"Your attraction for the gypsy." 

"The girl means nothing to me." 

This time it was Lady Bowes who smiled. "You have tasted from the purest of springs, Mr. Stevens, and would give your life to drink there again, would you not? So potent is her attraction." 

"You don't know that." 

"I know no woman can compete with that, which is beyond her reach, and I don't care to entertain it." 

"You don't need compete, my lady." 

"You lie again, Mr. Stevens." 

"Why do you doubt my word?" 

"Because I believe you enjoyed bedding the girl much more than I'd hoped or you had expected. Did you not proffer marriage?" 

"Words spoken at such moments are meaningless to people such as you and I. The King rewards you handsomely for nights of insincerities." 

"Then, you won't care to learn she's to be married." 

Scully leaned back concealing his face again in the shadows. His eyes flashed silver in the darkness. "To whom?" 

"Joseph Heslopp. Perhaps you've heard of him." 

No. I haven't." 

Lady Bowes leaned back into the shadows hiding her smile and content now to allow their journey to continue in absolute silence. 

**** 

Scully alighted from the carriage first and offered Lady Bowes a hand in assistance. Dashing gentlemen and elegant ladies, daughters and sons, demure young girls and sober chaperones greeted her with polite smiles, bows and curtseys. Eight broad sweeping steps led to the raised courtyard. 

Lady Bowes swept her gaze over the stone façade. Teigne Hall was grand enough from the outside but she couldn't wait to enter and witness the destruction Scully's entrance would inevitably bring. She could still see the shock register across Lady Hawkridge's face as she'd repeated the name of her escort for tonight's Engagement ball. It hadn't occurred to Lady Bowes that Lady Hawkridge would know the name. Hugh Forbesham, a name given by Scully himself? 

Gavel topped with a light sprinkling of snow crunched beneath their well-heeled shoes and anticipation stirred the frost-filled air. Lady Bowes graced Scully's stern countenance with a sweep of her hooded eyes. She'd prepared him well. His knowledge of the gypsy's impending marriage merely added to the excitement of the unpredictability of this man. 

They entered the Great Hall enticed by the faint smell of mint on the straw-strewn stone floor and drawn by the lively music played by an orchestra. A number of guests were already engaged in a vigorous country jig among the Yuletide evergreens and beeswax candles decorating the room. Servants hurried to and fro collecting mantels, cloaks and capes from new arrivals. Lady Bowes drew a great deal of attention. In the minstrel's gallery the music gradually faded and the dancers stopped until complete silence filled the room. 

The throng parted creating a path from the door to the dais at the far side of the long room with its high domed ceiling. Lady Bowes proceeded down the length of the room, a richly embroidered and jeweled gloved hand tucked within the crook of Scully's arm. She inclined her head dutifully left and right and returned polite smiles. 

A tall, handsome man with a broad physique clothed in black stockings, black hose and black doublet moved forward and greeted her with a curt bow. 

"It is an honor, my lady," he said. He raised her fingers to his lips. "I hope you're in good health. Your absence at court these two months has been most noticeable." 

Lady Bowes returned smiled demurely. 

Let the games begin. 

She turned to Scully, introducing him a sweeping gesture of an elegant hand. "Lord Hawkridge, may I introduce—" 

"Hugh Forbesham," Scully supplied with a stiff bow. 

Lord Hawkridge furrowed his brow, although he similarly returned Scully's greeting. "There must be relation in our names," he said. 

"Indeed, my lord. There is." 

"I don't recall hearing the name Forbesham in the Manderville family line," Lord Hawkridge said. 

"I'm given to believe our relation lies not on your father's side, Lord Hawkridge, and although it is but a distant one it's to Lady Hawkridge's family I must accredit our resemblance." 

"Why did you not send word of your association, Mr. Forbesham? We would've been delighted to receive you on a less boisterous occasion." 

"My connection to Lady Hawkridge is new to me, my lord. I have but recently learnt of it, although I believe Lady Hawkridge has known it for some time." 

Lord Hawkridge's low guttural response didn't quite convey his conviction, yet he was civil in his address to Scully. "Still, I would've been pleased to receive any relative. Distant or otherwise." 

With a polite incline of his head, he bade his guests follow him across the Great Hall to the dais where a long wooden table had been decked with all manner of fruit, wine, meat and fish. On one side of the hall a large spitted boar roasted above a crackling fire. 

"May I present my fiancé, Miss Anne-Marie Lucas and, my mother, Countess Dowager Hawkridge," Lord Hawkridge said. "Miss Lucas, Lady Hawkr—" 

"Hugh?" The Countess Dowager rose to her feet and stared at Scully, her face suddenly losing its radiance. "I never thought to see you again," she murmured. 

"Lady Hawkridge," Scully parried with a curt bow. "Perhaps, we may consider a family reunion for another time." 

"We will speak later," Lady Hawkridge said. 

Scully returned no acknowledgement or smile but bowing stiffly turned on his heels, leading Lady Bowes away on his arm. 

"I do believe they still watch us," Lady Bowes said. 

"Good." 

"Did Lady Hawkridge not seem a tad pale? I thought she did. So much so I feared she would faint there, on the spot," Lady Bowes remarked. 

She smiled while acknowledging several guests with a slight inclination of her fashionably coiffed head. "Do you think Lord Hawkridge suspects?" 

"I doubt a woman callous enough to give up a son would be susceptible to such a feminine weakness," Scully sneered. 

He smiled in turn to several young ladies vying without much pretence for his attention. "And as for my dear brother, he seems much too unsuspecting to see what is right before his eyes." 

They both took wine. 

"What do you have in mind?" Lady Bowes whispered, caressing the long stem of her glass with an idle gloved finger. "I assume you have a need to exact revenge. Look about you. Look at what has been denied you. The grandeur. The luxury. The honor."  

"I know what has been denied me, my lady, and I've waited a long time to exact my revenge. Be sure I shall not waste the moment." 

Lady Bowes followed Scully's meaningful gaze to the beautiful russet haired woman sitting at the long table at Lord Hawkridge's side. 




Treason Ch. 08-10



"Anne-Marie Lucas is indeed quite beautiful, Mr. Stevens. Perhaps a night in her arms will help you forget your gypsy wench." 

"Perhaps," Scully murmured. "Perhaps." 

**** 

Laughter had erupted from an adjoining room where Lord Hawkridge sat enjoying a private drink with friends. He'd allowed their reasoning to persuade him Hugh Forbesham's uncanny resemblance was indeed nothing more than some quirk of distant connection. Although his mother's steadfast refusal to expound on Hugh's family relation left Darby mystified and suspicious of the older man's presence. 

His friends' lively discourse soon sobered, however, as they argued the politics of King James and the plight of the Catholics under his rule. Lord Hawkridge returned his attention to the two men beside him locked in heated conversation and sought to diffuse the mounting tension. 

"I bear no malice toward Catholics but the Hampton Court conference rose out of a need to defend our Faith," he interjected. 

Bertram Goode answered him. "Our Faith has long been assured its superiority by the King's predecessor." 

"And that explains why the King sees no reason to change what he finds already settled," Charles Beckett said. 

"Yet the King would persecute the Catholics in a worse manner than his predecessor. He proclaims utter detestation of papists and demands the bishops oversee severe and exact punishment of every Catholic—" Bertram Goode retorted. 

"I sometimes doubt your loyalty to our Faith, Bertram." 

"Why? Because I believe we are all first and foremost Englishmen and as Englishmen Catholics deserve to be admitted into the ranks have His Majesty's other subjects." 

"Nonsense!" Charles rejoined. 

"It's not nonsense and you will find a great number of Catholics are of alike mind." 

Charles gave a wry laugh. "Like whom. Catesby?" he proffered. "Guido Fawkes? Thomas Percy? Take care Bertram, there are those who may hear powder treason in your words." 

"It's not treason to speak the truth." 

"Yes, well, that does rather depend on whose truth it is, so forgive me if I don't believe any truth uttered by your Catholic friends," Charles disparaged. 

"You need not take the word of a Catholic but open your eyes, Charles. The King now goes too far. Catholics no longer can make their wills or dispose of their goods. They're exiled and outlawed in their own country and like such they are treated. There's no longer any obligation to pay them their debts or rents for land held from them. They cannot go to the law for justice for it is that very law which has made them so. They can seek no remedy for ills or injuries received—" 

Charles jumped to his feet. "They! They! They! Enough!" 

Bertram rose as quickly. 

"Charles!" Lord Hawkridge interceded. He sprang between both men. "Shield your sword. Surely a man and a friend may be allowed his opinion without being set upon. Besides, this night I am betrothed. Enough of religion and politics." 

Charles retook is seat. "Perhaps you should become a priest, Bertram," he remarked. 

Bertram, too, resumed his place. "Have you not heard, Charles? They have already been ordered out of the realm." 

There was a brief pause before both men broke into fits of laughter. With order restored they set about finishing their wine. 

"Darby is right. Let us no longer speak of the church and its politics for it sours the evening and a fine friendship." 

Charles raised his glass. "To my lord Hawkridge and his beautiful bride-to-be. Miss Lucas." 

"Speaking of which, my lord, should you not be in the softness of your fiancée's arms spinning about the room like a desperate man in love," Bertram joked. 

Lord Hawkridge laughed and rose from his seat. "Indeed I should, Bertram. Indeed I should." He clasped his friend's arm. "I await the day, gentlemen, when a young lady takes your fancy and makes coxcombs of you both." 

"Never!" 

Their laughter had scarce subsided when a servant burst into the room. Without waiting permission to approach he hurried across the room toward Lord Hawkridge. He'd only whispered a few words before Darby raced from the room. 

Charles closed upon his heels but he could barely hold Darby's stride. "What is it, Darby?" 

Lord Hawkridge didn't reply. He moved at breakneck speed through the Great Hall to the Screen's Passage taking the stone steps that spiraled down into the kitchen. From the kitchen he sped through the door leading to the inner courtyard. None wore cloak or doublet and the freezing air stung through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt. He dashed to the stables situated at the side of the house. A stable-hand stood guard by an empty stall. 

Lord Hawkridge punched the door of the empty stall. "Saddle Nightwind," he ordered. "Now!" 

Charles tried again. He touched Darby's arm. "Darby, what is it? What has happened?" 

Behind them the stable-hand fought to bring the high-spirited steed under his control. 

Lord Hawkridge punched the stable door once more. "Anne-Marie...has taken Samael," he said. 

He turned, his eyes meeting Bertram's who had taken over the reigns of the high-strung beast. Lord Hawkridge grabbed the reins and mounted the blue-black stallion. He sped from the stables into the snow-covered night. 

**** 

Lady Sarah Hawkridge returned to the Great Hall, her bow furrowed in incomprehension and her despair. Her eyes searched the throng for Hugh. Laura Lucas appeared at her side. 

"My lady, whatever is going on? First, Lord Hawkridge brushes past me without a courteous word and now I cannot find my sister anywhere." 

"Perhaps they are taking a walk together, Laura. It's, after all, rather warm in here." 

Laura pouted and knitted her brow in slow deliberation. "I don't think so," she returned. "From the look on Lord Hawkridge's face I feared he meant to murder somebody." 

"Darby's gone? Where?" 

"I don't know." Laura looked exasperated. "But something is very wrong, my lady. I know it is. I have to find Anne-Marie." 

Lady Hawkridge fixed her gaze beyond Laura's shoulder to Hugh standing in close conspiracy with Lady Bowes. As if sensing her eyes upon him, he boldly met her gaze. An amused glint sparkled in the depth of his eyes and a faint smile hovered about his lips. And Lady Hawkridge knew. Everything that Anne-Marie had told her had been true. 

She'd not doubted Anne-Marie's virtue, far from it, yet a part of her had hoped Anne-Marie had been mistaken. Scully pulled leisurely at the white ruff about his sleeve before inclining his head in mocking salutation. 

"It'll all be right, Laura," Lady Hawkridge soothed. "Darby must have gone in search of her." 

Lady Hawkridge crossed the room toward Scully, her head held high and her countenance rigid. "Sir, I would speak with you, at once." 

Scully glanced askance at Lady Bowes and then held out his arm to his mother. Lady Hawkridge took her son's proffered arm with outward calmness and allowed him to escort her to the south terrace. Once outside and away from prying eyes she spun from him and planted her hand with a firm slap across his cheek. Scully's eyes glittered and their breaths misted angrily between them. Then, he threw back his head and did something that startled her. He laughed. 

"Unconscionable seducer—" 

"Sir?" Scully scoffed. "You cannot even say my name, can you? Or acknowledge who I am." 

He opened his hand to reveal the large white sapphire in the shape of a tear lying on his palm. 

"The Jeweled Tear," Lady Hawkridge whispered. "For these long years I've mourned your loss and before this night I could indeed do both but your cowardly and despicable act erased any love I may have felt for you." 

"You dare speak of love," Scully sneered. "You let me live in squalor while you and my dear brother enjoyed a life of luxury. A life denied me. You've no idea what I've had to do to survive and to think I could've been master of all this." 

"Teigne Hall will always belong to a Manderville. It was never meant to be yours. Your father abandoned me, abandoned us, and I could do nothing to prevent your fate. Don't you think I agonized every day of every year when you were taken from me? I always hoped to see you again. Your presence here tonight took me by surprise but I knew you, Hugh. A mother always knows her child." 

Lady Hawkridge looked coldly upon her son. "But you are not the man I'd thought to see and welcome with open arms into my home. Tonight shows me the kind of man you are." 

"What kind of man did you expect having sent me to live among cutthroats and thieves?" Scully spat back. 

"You despise me your life, yet it was not I who made you so. There are many who have shared your fate and remained decent and who do not force themselves on an innocent woman. You did. You sent Anne-Marie that note and you alone are responsible—" 

"I think not." Scully gave a chilling smile. "The blame is yours and yours alone, madam. What would hurt Lord Hawkridge more? Knowing you kept secret the existence of a first borne son or learning his beautiful fiancée spent this very night—this very special night—in my arms, and you—you mother—could've prevented it—" 

"I knew nothing of your despicable plan!" 

"Do you think that matters now? You knew me. You knew I was your son, yet you led Lord Hawkridge to believe different. You said nothing. Not one single word. Nothing—" 

"I wanted to—" Lady Hawkridge breathed. 

"I doubt you'll be forgiven your silence." Scully closed the gap between himself and his mother, his eyes bearing down with fierce accusation. "Whatever else may have taken place this night one thing is certain. You have a great deal more to lose than I. Your reputation and your precious son." 

Lady Hawkridge took an anxious step backward. "Then, I can tell Darby nothing," she gasped. "That is your revenge." 

"Another secret, mother," Scully scathed. "Still, you are rather adept at keeping them." 

"And Anne-Marie. What of Anne-Marie? Will she not know justice?" 

Scully gazed into the distance past Lady Hawkridge's shoulders. "Somehow I doubt that question is longer relevant," he murmured. 

Lady Hawkridge spun about following his gaze to the three figures stumbling across the garden. One of them cradled something in his arms. They drew closer and her eyes widened. With a loud gasp she raised a startled hand to her mouth. 

"Tell him now, if you dare," Scully taunted. 

**** 

"Madam! You spend a great deal of time in the country." 

Lady Bowes swiveled on the spot. Cage had left a few beeswax candles burning and light now danced upon the walls and straw-covered floor from whence the faint smell of rosemary emanated. She perused the dimness for the unseen voice addressing her from within the shadows, her eyes wide and her breath locked in her throat. 

"Show yourself so I may see who skulks about my home like a common thief." 

Footsteps sounded through the Great Hall and then stopped. "I'm no thief, my lady." 

The man stepped forth into the moonlight. 

"Lord Rutherford! Your presence is unwelcome and inappropriate given the lateness of the hour. Return on the morrow when I have slept and am prepared to receive you." 

"I understood your return to be much earlier. I've already wasted an entire day waiting for you," Lord Rutherford rejoined. "My return would be under less agreeable circumstances." 

Lady Bowes bristled. "Meaning." 

"Lord Tredawn didn't trust you," Lord Rutherford stated. He slipped once more into the shadows. "He thought you far too ambitious to be satisfied with the position of King's mistress alone. As do I." 

Lady Bowes followed the sound of his measured steps to the window place. He sat down crossing his arms and legs at his leisure and watching her. 

"But, unlike Lord Tredawn," Lord Rutherford continued, "I understand your lust for power. It's something we both desire, although there's but enough for one of us." 

"What do you wish, my lord? The hour is late." 

Lord Rutherford chuckled. "The King's court is awry with rumors concerning you my lady—" 

"As it once was of you," Lady Bowes reminded him in sharp tone. 

Lord Rutherford obliged her with a polite smile and slight inclination of his head. "Touché," he said. "And yet it is I who holds the King's ear and your life within my hands." 

Lady Bowes approached, her strident steps evident of her displeasure. Her face loomed from the shadows and returned his confident glare with an angry one. 

"How dare you threaten me? I am still the King's mistress, with all the power that entails!" 

Lord Rutherford shrugged, unperturbed by her rhetoric. "Mistresses come and go," he replied. A suggestive glint sparked his gaze. "Perhaps it is I who will take your place in His Majesty's bed." 

"Never!" 

"No? Have I not been granted the use of Claerdal Manor and the title of Earl of Tredawn to use should I desire?" Lord Rutherford countered. He leant forward, "Certainly now Joseph Heslopp is no longer alive to lay claim to either." 

Lady Bowes pulled back into the shadows and shrugged. "Is that name supposed to mean something to me?" 

Lord Rutherford rose to his feet. He reached beneath his doublet and retrieved a small scroll. 

"Lord Tredawn long suspected you of traveling to White Webbs with your Catholic conspirators, although apart from your some would say all too close liaison with the French Ambassador there's no further proof that your Faith is that other than His Majesty's. Even Guido Fawkes doesn't mention you by name in his confession." 

Lady Bowes eyed the parchment held between taunting fingers. "Why would he? I'm guilty of nothing." 

She moved forward, her cloak rustling the straw beneath her feet. "Would you accuse me of treason, my lord Rutherford? Do you forget that before God and country it was you, by your own testimony, who condemned the man you once called friend and ally to the gallows? If there's anyone here guilty of treachery it is you, my lord, and should the King learn the truth—" 

"Ah, the truth, my lady." 

Lord Rutherford eyed her carefully. "The truth has many sides but how is it you know I lie? And should you be foolish enough to divulge my truth, how are you to explain your actions during His Majesty's absence in Scotland? To be exact, your reason for kidnapping Lord Tredawn's daughter in the first place." 

He opened the parchment in his hands. "A list of your Catholic friends..." His threat hung heavy between them. 

The mask of composure slipped from Lady Bowes' face and she took a cautious step backward. Lord Rutherford pressed home his advantage. 

"Lord Huntingdon, Ambrose Lucy, Anne Vaux, Elizabeth Tresham, Father Garnet..." he read. His eyes narrowed. "A Jesuit priest? Tut...tut...tut. All were seen in your presence at White Webbs secretly practicing the Catholic Faith. King James has been lenient of his Catholic subjects but not those who would plot against him with foreign insurgents sent by Rome. These names by themselves are not enough to send you to the gallows but there is this business of Joseph Heslopp. Lady Tredawn has told me everything." 

"Lady Tredawn? Do you think the King would trouble himself over a man such as Joseph Heslopp or care what becomes of the daughter of a proven traitor? Besides, she will hang alongside her father. Not even the King will interfere on her behalf." 

Lord Rutherford paused a moment. His considered riposte succeeded in wiping the triumphant look of satisfaction from Lady Bowes' face. 

"No. But the King's curiosity would be aroused should learn of your part in Lord Tredawn's downfall and know of the lengths you went to, to discover the existence of his daughter. You used that knowledge to your advantage to assure Lord Tredawn's...what?" 

Lord Rutherford pondered a moment longer. "His obedience? Loyalty? Silence? Death?" 

At this final suggestion Lady Bowes took another involuntary step backward. 

"The failure of the powder treason, my lady," Lord Rutherford continued, "has served to strengthen Puritans in their conviction of the threat posed by Catholics and it has made the King wary of those about him almost to the point of paranoia. If his once loyal and trusted friend could be proven treacherous then who in his court can be trusted? My condemnation of Lord Tredawn was made in a moment of opportune madness," Lord Rutherford acknowledged. "In the light of the ruthlessness of the powder treason I could scarce rectify it without suffering the consequences." 

"What do you want?" 

Lord Rutherford pursed his lips and folded the parchment with deliberate slowness. "Our lives are literally dependent on each other, my lady," he remarked. "Should either of us betray the other then we betray ourselves. I merely wished to remind you of that and also the climate in England has changed toward all Catholics. Noble and peasant alike." 

"Tell me...how did you learn of the powder treason?" Lady Bowes questioned. 

Lord Rutherford smiled. "I overheard Guido Fawkes speak treason in the cellars beneath Westminster Hall—and Lord Tredawn speak against it." 

"And yet you happily laid blame at Lord Tredawn's feet," Lady Bowes returned. 

"Lord Tredawn's presence turned out to be quite convenient, even, should I dare say, auspicious." 

"You betrayed a friend for his lands, his estate and his title." 

"We are both ambitious, my lady," Lord Rutherford said. He released a wistful sigh. "But I had hoped to atone for my deed." 

"Ah." Lady Bowes understood. "That explains your proposal to Lord Tredawn's daughter." 

"Indeed my lady, and we neither of us can wash our hands of his blood. From this moment we are to be the most loyal of friends. I trust we understand one another, my lady." 

Lady Bowes curtseyed demurely. "My lord. I believe you know the way out of my house." 

With quick, angry steps she crossed the Great Hall to the sweeping stairs leading to the Long Gallery. She strained her ears and listened as the main door closed. She stopped at the bay window and gazed down onto the courtyard. Lord Rutherford's carriage trundled down the long avenue toward the main gate. 

France's covert operation against England would continue as planned with Claerdal Manor the insurance she needed when the time was ripe to distance herself from France and King Henri. 

Think! 

There had to be a solution to the problem Lord Rutherford had now proved himself to be. 

Chapter Ten 

January 1606 

An injustice was about to be done this day. Celeste gazed about her with worried eyes and faint heart. It had rained hard and furious the night before but no amount of rainfall or winter chill could succeed in dampening the spirits of those present on this early January morning. 

The Old Palace Yard at Westminster was full to capacity, and more. Catholic and Protestant alike side-by-side, each man more than willing to part with his ten shillings to see traitors hanged, drawn and quartered today. Men, women, children the whole of London it seemed, jostled in the dawning light for vantage points and the best seats. None wished to miss this occasion. Voices were raised, loud and exuberant and none more vociferous than the Catholics present. Disassociation had proven vital to self-preservation and proudly did they condemn their fellowman their attack on King and country. The conspirators were found and their sentence, justified and where more fitting their execution than the scene of the intended crime. 

Celeste watched the public revelry and suppressed her tears. Her face was in stark contrast to the jollity and liveliness upon those gathered about her. There was neither a smile about her lips nor zealous light sparking her eyes. 




Treason Ch. 11-13



Chapter Eleven



Although she'd been made to work long days and hard hours for her keep Mrs. Ingleman, the innkeeper's wife treated her kindly. Her bed was soft and she received more than enough food to eat. Mrs. Ingleman also donated some of her old clothes from which Celeste had been able to adapt new ones since Maggie had seen fit to deprive her of her coffer as well.

Celeste looked down from an upstairs window onto the roof of the snow-covered coach entering the courtyard. She awaited the familiar greeting from the innkeeper as he rushed to meet the passengers. Some stayed a night and others for two. And there were those who were only in need of light refreshment before they continued their journey. But this morning there was a distinct lack of voices. There were no passengers today. This was the first empty coach in a month. Her heart lifted and she practically ran from the room to her own small chamber. She pulled out the tin box she kept hidden beneath her bed.

She'd earned tuppence a day for four weeks and with the odd gratuity from guests she had near enough to pay her fare to Claerdal. Celeste picked up her skirts and hauled from her room and made far too much noise on the wooden stairs as she hurriedly descended them. With her money clutched in her hand she approached the coach driver sitting at one of the wooden tables in the dining room. He didn't look up from the bowl of ox cheek soup in front of him as she neared.

"Sir," Celeste said.

The gruff, guttural response neither acknowledged nor dismissed her so she continued further. She placed the money on the table before him. 

"Five shillings, thruppence," she said. 

His eyes flicked over the amount. 

"How far can you take me?"

The coach driver stopped eating and finally lifted his eyes to hers. "An' where would'ya wanna be going, lass, on a cold mornin' as this?"

"Claerdal."

He shook his head. "Cornwall," he said. "And not a mile further. Ya can walk the rest if you've a mind to. I'll be leaving as soon as I'm done here, but I'll not be waitin' for ya." 

He turned his attention back to his soup and beer, taking large mouthfuls of each.

Celeste spun on her heels and darted to the kitchen. She found Mrs. Ingleman baking bread and Alice, a young servant girl, making a fruit compote. 

"The coachman will take me as far as Cornwall, Mrs. Ingleman," she blurted. "Tomorrow I'll be in Claerdal." 

She smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Ingleman. Thank you for all you've done for me but I cannot delay or he'll leave me."

The innkeeper's wife hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron. "Ah, lass. Are you sure, it's a good thing you're doing? Why don't you return home, lass? It's clear your mistress wants nothing to do with you."

"I can't go back home, Mrs. Ingleman."

"Why not for heaven's sake? There's nothin' for you in Claerdal, don't you see? Not with your mistress treating you as she does."

"There's nothing for me in Chichester, Mrs. Ingleman. I must go to Claerdal." 

"Stay here, lass. It's not much but you're welcome to stay."

In less than five months she was going to bear a child. She needed to go to Claerdal and convince Lord Rutherford their one act of consummation had left her with child. His child. It wasn't the truth but it was necessary for her child's survival. Celeste flung her arms about the older woman's neck. 

"I wish I could stay. I shan't forget your kindness, Mrs. Ingleman." 





Treason Ch. 11-13



Lady Bowes smiled. "Are you quite sure about that?" she rejoined. "All London assumes Maggie Marsden to be your wife and that the child is hers. But we know better, do we not? Your marriage to Lord Tredawn's daughter, however discreet, was most unwise. Secrets, my lord," Lady Bowes taunted. "Be careful with whom you share them." 

Lord Rutherford peered closer at Lady Bowes. "Who is he? Who is this man who knew my wife before me and left her with child?"

"Your wife?" Lady Bowes mocked. "How interesting that you should address her so, now." She directed her gaze at Celeste who involuntary shrunk away.

"My lord," Celeste implored, "I beg you not to harm Jamie. Do with me what you will but spare the child. Please, my lord."

"You are in no position to ask favors of me," Lord Rutherford snapped. 

His eyes bored deep into hers. "I will have his name!"

"Scully Stevens," Lady Bowes said. 

Lord Rutherford rounded on Lady Bowes but addressed Celeste.

"Leave us!" he commanded. 

His gaze fluttered down to where Jamie stood staring up at him, his eyes wide and full of tears. "And take my...take the boy with you." 

"My lord—" Celeste tried again but Lord Rutherford remained unbending.

"Get out of my sight!" 

Celeste ran to where Jamie stood and scooped him into her arms. She ran toward the house, her tears streaming down her face. Her idyllic summer afternoon had turned into a nightmare.





Treason Ch. 11-13



"All I know is I'm afraid...afraid of the man called Scully and what he will do to me."

"And afore that?"

She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't know. Please help me. I have to get off this ship. I don't belong here, not with him. I can't belong here."

Amos looked at her for the longest time. "Nay, lass. I suppose you don't. We set sail for Africa on the next tide. If you want to escape this ship, you'll have to go now. Can you stand?"

Celeste nodded. She would at least try. She placed her weight on her arms. The ointment had taken some of the sting from her wounds.

"We're only a mile from the coast," Amos said. 

She struggled to her elbows. Amos placed a cape about her shoulders wrapping it about her torn dress.

"Here, put this on," he instructed. "The captain's clothes are too heavy. Come, give me that ring," he instructed. 

Celeste stared in bewilderment at him.

"We must be quick, lass," he pressed. "There's little time to lose. We must hide your possessions if you don't wish to be robbed of them."

Amos helped her sit upright and she swung her legs from the bed. She gave Amos the ring from her middle finger.

"May I wear the locket?" she asked.

Amos raised his old eyes in understanding. "Aye, lass. Come, we must hurry." 

He placed the ring into a small pouch he'd found among Scully's belongings and then proceeded to sew a small pocket at the hem of her dress. His hands stilled and he looked at her with a sly grin.

"You deserve some compensation for what the captain did."

He rummaged through Scully's belongings and returned with a large white, tear-shaped sapphire in his hand. 

"This belongs to Scully," Amos said. "Spend it wisely."

Before Celeste could utter any objection, Amos had placed the exquisite piece of jewelry in the pocket at the hem of her dress and sewed it closed. She watched him with sadness in her heart as he completed his work. 

"What will Scully do when I'm discovered gone?" she asked.

Amos shrugged his shoulder. "Don't worry about me, lass," he answered. "I can look after myself." 

"I'll not forget you, Amos, or the kindness you've shown me."

"And I won't forget you, lass. Come," he said.

Celeste trailed behind him to the cabin door, her heart in her mouth. He led her to the steps leading to the upper deck. Each step caused her pain, yet she stubbornly clenched her teeth spurred on by the thought of her freedom. Amos signaled her to stop, mouthing for her to wait.

He climbed the wooden steps to the upper deck. Celeste climbed too staying out of sight and watching Amos for any sign he might give, ready to act. The old man hastened portside, his body fighting to remain upright against the constant rolling of the ship.

The deck was a hive of activity. All hands busied themselves in preparation for the next tide. Sailors darned and hoisted sails ripped in the stormy winds while others patched leaks both large and small. Scully stood at the helm barking orders at his first mate, Mr. Bean, who then barked the same orders to a subordinate who, using more than necessary force, ensured the orders were carried out without the merest of hesitation. 

Amos slipped in the shadows, portside, and loosened the ropes holding barrels of fresh water and food in their place. At that moment the ship listed far to one side toppling the huge drums. Mr. Bean's voice boomed above the wind directing his men to the left side of the ship to secure the barrels once more. 

Amos beckoned Celeste behind him. "Jump!"

Celeste hesitated, her fear rising in her heart. "Will you not take me?"

"I daren't row you ashore, lass. Our absence would be quickly discovered. If I stay here, the captain won't suspect you're not. It should give you a couple of days to get far enough from here once you reach the shore."

"How do I get to shore?"

"You must swim, lass," Amos answered. 

He quickly scooped her in his arms and threw her into the arms of fate. 

Celeste plummeted through the air, her stomach rising through her body, her scream swallowed up by the roaring sound of the wind. Powerful waves crashed over her sending her hurtling against the side of the ship. She gritted her teeth against the cold and swam, finding strength when she thought she had none. Another wave crashed above her head, forcing her under. She surfaced once more, fighting the turbulent tides overwhelming her and gulping the precious air. 



Chapter Thirteen



Celeste trudged across the wide and desolate moor, her desperate sobs heard by none. Her body was numb and exhausted and her limbs felt heavy but she willed her feet forward step by agonizing step. She could neither turn back nor remain victim to the windswept wilds.

She drew the wet cloak tighter about her shoulders. It offered no more protection from the fierce winds than the sodden dress clinging to her shattered body. She'd escaped Scully's ship and survived the icy sea but what would become of her now? She caught her ankle against the jagged edge of a rock and stumbled helplessly to the ground, her painful cry lost within the tumultuous surroundings. Her body shivered but she'd long since given up fighting off the cold. She longed for sleep.

Get up, Elina!

Locked away in the recesses of her mind were the precious memories of a little boy that she would never know again. Her trembling fingers sought and found the small locket about her neck. She clasped it tightly to her breast and lay down on the frozen ground. She closed her eyes. 

Get up, Elina!

A loud rumble traversed the ground its sound resonating deep in her bones. An intense flash of white light exploded behind her closed eyelids compelling her eyes open. The faint echo of a voice shattered the night air.

"Go on, Mistral! Gee up!"

Horses? She heard horses or was her mind playing tricks giving her hope when there was none?

She struggled upright and caught sight of the shimmering white orb in the distance. It moved wildly through the darkness disappearing and reappearing as it loomed closer and dispersed the shadows around it. 

A coach?

For a fleeting moment joy swelled her heart before doubt bade caution. What if she was already discovered gone? Scully wouldn't easily forgive Amos his treachery as he wouldn't forgive her, her escape. Panic propelled her painfully to her feet and she clambered backward into the shadows. Her heart throbbed ferociously against her ribs. She would rather die than go back to him.

The brightness drew nearer devouring the darkness before it in fantastic tempo. Its brilliance flashed across her face briefly blinding her and the ground trembled in warning. Her eyes widened with dawning realization and she stumbled backward in her haste to escape the galloping horses coming over the rise. Too late, she scrambled to her feet. 

The horses stuttered to an abrupt halt and pawed the air in their alarm. A powerful hoof came down hard on her shoulder knocking her back to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. Startled hooves first raised in apprehension now trampled the ground about her in nervous excitement.

The driver's voice boomed through the darkness. "Whoa, Mistral! Whoa, whoa, lad!" 

He jumped from the coach and rushed to the lead horse. "Easy boy! Easy now, lad!" 

The horse briefly struggled against the familiar handling and soothing tone. It snorted defiantly but soon calmed, his compliance quickly mirrored by the others.

The coach door swung open and its passenger alighted braving the biting cold and lashing rain. He called above the storm.

"Davy, are you all right? What happened?" 

"I'm fine, my lord. Something spooked the horses."

"What is it?" 

"Some dead animal or other I think. It's still there in the middle of the carriageway, my lord." 

The Earl of Hawkridge reached for the lantern swinging on the front of the carriage and edged toward the sprawled, black mass. 

"Be careful, my lord!"

The light scattered the darkness revealing the still figure of a woman lying on the narrow path. Lord Hawkridge swore and oath and dashed forward. He dropped to his knees and felt for signs of life. A low moan escaped the woman's lips. She was barely alive.

He quickly removed his cloak and draped it over her. She moaned again as he scooped her into his arms and brushed past his coachman's stunned countenance.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Davy exclaimed. "It's a woman." 

He hastened after Lord Hawkridge who put the woman into the warmth of his carriage. "What's she doing out here in the middle of nowhere and at this ungodly hour?" 

Lord Hawkridge stared down at the bruised face partially covered by dark tendrils of her hair. She was so slight he marveled how she'd managed to survive the bitter weather.

"I don't know, Davy," he said.

His hand instinctively recoiled from the woman's hair as she groaned again and turned her amber colored gaze unexpectedly onto his. He pulled back further, puzzled by the depth of fear and hostility in her eyes as recognition dawned in their depths. She couldn't possibly know him. There were none in his acquaintance with a complexion quite as bronzed as hers. And yet something stirred deep within him. For the first time in three years he felt the powerful surge of his heartbeat and it unnerved him. 

The woman screamed. "No!" 

She clawed at his face, her nails leaving their mark. She lunged past him to the coach door eliciting an oath in his surprise.

He pulled her back to him. "You little fool," he ground out. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" 

She struggled feverishly in his arms. "Let me go," she cried. 

"Be still!" 

His terse command achieved the desired result shocking her into silence. She sank wearily against his chest the tiniest of pleas rising in her throat.

"Let me be. Please... let me be."