The Abducted Bride. Anne Herries

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      ‘Surely His Majesty must listen to the Don’s complaints,’ Deborah Ann said. ‘We are not at war with Spain. Are not the prince and my lord Buckingham in Spain to treat for a marriage between the Spanish King’s daughter and Prince Charles?’

      ‘Indeed, it is so,’ Sir Edward agreed. It was the news that the negotiations for the Catholic marriage had seemed to go well that had encouraged him to venture to Court once more. ‘One would think His Majesty would rather hang de Vere than welcome him to Court—but it seems the rogue finds favour in the royal eyes.’

      ‘Why would that be, Father? The marquis is little better than the Algerian pirates who prey on our ships.’

      ‘Queen Elizabeth was wont to smile on such men,’ Sir Edward said with a little frown. ‘One could not blame her so much, for the might of Spain could have snatched the crown from her had our brave sailors not beaten off the great Armada the Spanish sent against her—but our present king should have no need to fear Spain.’

      ‘Then one must suppose His Majesty to have other reasons for his leniency.’

      ‘With a king it is always best to suppose nothing and be ever on one’s guard,’ Sir Edward replied. ‘Your cousin is alone now. Go to her and tell her we are almost ready to leave. There is someone else I must speak to for a moment and then we shall go.’

      ‘Yes, Father.’

      Deborah began to walk towards the spot where she had last seen her cousin. Where was Sarah? Oh, there she was! She had moved to the other side of the gallery. Changing her direction to catch up with her, Deborah was startled when a man stepped directly into her path.

      ‘Whither so fast?’ a deep, husky voice asked. Deborah caught the faint accent, which she realized must come from his having spent much of his life in France. ‘Why are you in such a hurry, mistress? You were like to knock me down in your haste.’

      That was most unlikely! Deborah stared up into the wicked dark eyes of the Marquis de Vere and drew in her breath sharply. Close to, he was even larger than he had seemed from a distance. A powerful man with broad shoulders and strong thighs, his nearness was intimidating. His court dress was fashioned of black velvet slashed through with dusky gold braid, his doublet heavily sewn with jet bugles.

      Unusually in these times he wore no beard, though a slight shadow could be discerned on his chin as if it were some hours since he had shaved. His hair was dark brown and waved thickly back from his brow, and he wore only a small ruff about his neck. Even in court clothes, which taken to excess could appear ridiculous on some, this man had the look of an adventurer.

      ‘It was you who impeded my progress, sir,’ Deborah replied, her head high, two spots of colour in her cheeks. ‘I pray you, allow me to pass. I wish to speak with my cousin.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the pretty Mistress Palmer,’ Nicholas Trevern, Marquis de Vere, murmured throatily. ‘A bold wench that one, and no better than she ought to be, I’ll vow.’

      ‘How dare you impugn the honour of my family?’ Deborah’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘If I were a man I would demand satisfaction, sir!’

      ‘I could afford you a deeper satisfaction as a wench, Mistress Stirling.’

      The expression in his eyes coupled with the mockery in his voice shocked her. She knew that men were freer in their speech in town than she was accustomed to hearing in her father’s house, where she was always accorded the deepest respect, but this was outrageous. How dare he make such a ribald suggestion to her!

      ‘You are unwise to insult me, sir. My father has powerful friends.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Laughter danced in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘Would you have me hanged drawn and quartered for daring to tease you, mistress?’

      ‘I have no wish to listen to your teasing, sir.’

      ‘Have you not? Your cousin seemed amused.’

      ‘My cousin is young and perhaps something foolish.’

      ‘Of your own age, methinks?’ He made her an elegant leg. ‘Forgive me, mistress. I bow to your superior wisdom.’

      ‘You are pleased to mock me, sir.’

      It was all Deborah could do not to stamp her foot. Oh, if she were but the son her father had hoped for and never had! She would teach this devil a lesson he would not soon forget.

      ‘One must mock at life,’ Nicholas went on before she could make up her mind how to deliver her set-down. ‘Too oft life plays its cruel jests on both the godly and ungodly alike. ’Tis as well to laugh in the face of fate as lie down beneath it. Yet I meant not to offend you, mistress. Go on your way in peace.’

      He stood aside. Deborah swept past, the wide skirts of her sumptuous gown swaying with indignation. It was as well for her peace of mind that she did not turn her head to look back, for the sheer delight and mischief in Nicholas’s eyes would have added to her sense of frustration. How many times had she longed to be free of all the restrictions placed on a woman? How often she had wished herself a man, and never more so than now. Oh, that dreadful man should suffer if she but had a sword to run him through!

      Deborah was no stranger to swordplay, or to a man’s costume. Her father had indulged her in whims others might find strange. He had been amused to see her strut and playact in her role as a youth, and had delighted in her skill with the rapier.

      ‘I vow I could wish for no finer son,’ he had told her once when they had practised the art of fencing together and he found himself disarmed. ‘But this must be our secret, Deborah, for the old tabbies would speak you ill if it were known you had behaved so immodestly.’

      ‘I care naught for the spite of tabbies,’ Deborah had replied confidently. ‘But as you ask it, Father, I shall be discreet. What we enjoy in private shall remain so.’

      ‘You are always my good daughter,’ her father had teased, a smile curving his mouth. ‘I must be on my guard for ’tis certain you will want something—a new gown, perhaps?’

      ‘How should I want a new gown when I already have so many?’ Deborah asked, then a little smile flickered in her green eyes—eyes that had caused many a young village lad to dream of her in vain. ‘But there is one thing you might do for me—if you wish?’

      ‘Of course, daughter. What is it now? Would you have me give more of my gold to master parson—or open my kitchens to every beggar in the whole of Northumbria?’

      ‘It is just Mistress Donovan. She is a widow now, Father, with three small children. All I ask is that she may remain in her cottage until she can find a man to take her husband’s place.’

      ‘Of course, child. She is a comely good woman. I dare say a man can be found to wed her before I am entirely ruined by lack of rent or labour.’

      ‘Oh, Father!’

      Deborah had laughed at his gentle mockery of her good works. Yet she was not moved to laughter by the wicked teasing of the Marquis de Vere, though in her heart she could not find him guilty of malice. When he smiled he did not look so very harsh, but there was mettle in him. She thought that he might make a fearsome enemy, and a little chill ran down her spine. For a moment it was as if a dark cloud had passed over СКАЧАТЬ