Page 45 of Lord of Deception

Chapter Thirty-Four

Alys kicked and scratched as he fumbled for her hands, but was no match for his superior strength. Her exertions served only to knock them both sideways off the bed, where they landed on the floor in a tangle of blankets. Avery gradually worked himself up into a sitting position, holding Alys in front of him, her arms pinioned behind her back.

“Now, I think we’ve wasted enough time, Madam. Sir Thomas is most keen to question you, but not here. There’s too high a risk of us being interrupted by those ill-informed supporters of our so-called Virgin Queen. I advise you not to struggle any more—my temper’s not so sweet as it used to be.”

He twisted her wrist. “Any further trouble will result in more pain. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Her captor got to his feet, carrying her with him, then stilled. Dragging her around in front of him, he shoved a hand into her hair, forcing her head forward.

“What is that?” His voice bit into her ear.

She stared. There on the white sheet, presumably where Kit had rested, was a dark smear of blood.

“No, don’t answer that.” Avery’s tone was so icy it made her shiver. He wrenched her back to face him, pulling her hair cruelly. Her gaze locked with his, and she saw something ungodly in his eyes, something so cold-bloodedly evil, her knees almost gave way beneath her.

He brought one fist level with his cheek. “Slut!” He punched her so hard, she fell to the ground, head spinning. “Bawdy bitch! Harlot! Had I known you were so easy with your favors that you would take a stinking peasant to your bed… nay, it would be beneath my dignity. Pox-ridden hussy!”

She barely heard his words for the ringing in her ears and the intense pain in her face.

Lights flashed before her eyes, and she felt dizzy and sick as never before, scarcely aware of Avery heaving her upright and yanking her out of the door by the shoulder of her gown. When it ripped as he pulled her onto the landing, he grasped her belt, just managing to keep her on her feet as she staggered and stumbled in his wake.

Through the blinding pain, she was dimly aware of being taken into a chamber she recognized as Kate’s. There was someone else in there, a man. He made a scornful noise deep in his throat at the sight of her. When she felt something wet and warm slide down her cheek, she knew he had spat on her, and her misery and degradation were complete.

“Let that be a lesson to you for trying to poison me, bitch.” It was Kit’s guard. “Silence, fool. Just get the door open.”

Alys saw the paneled wall in front of her, and then, somehow, they were through it and into an enclosed space on the other side. The panel creaked back into place behind her. Avery flung her to the floor where she crawled around, disorientated. The wall-eyed man vanished. Gradually, she recovered enough to sit up, staring in horror at the man now pacing up and down the floor like a raging lion.

He had it all wrong, of course. Would he treat her any more leniently if he knew she hadn’t lain with Kit, that everything was above board? Somehow, she couldn’t find the words to plead innocence on that score—he had no right to judge her.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she stifled a gasp. This secret room was richly decorated, with velvet drapes, and precious tapestries glistening in silver and gold. Several iron-bound chests stood open around the walls, disgorging wrappings and sheaves of paper. A few groats were scattered about the floor, even a gold angel, but as far as she could tell, the coffers were now empty. How much money had these traitors amassed, and whence had it come?

In the opposite wall was a narrow door opening onto an uninviting blackness. It was through this door that the wall-eyed man had disappeared. As she watched, the menacing frame of Sir Thomas Kirlham filled the opening. He strode across to stand over her.

“So, we have another traitor in our midst. Kate should have realized it was unwise to mistreat her poor relation. Women of breeding, when put down and scorned, become bitter and spiteful. Well, Mistress Barchard has well and truly taken her revenge, aided and abetted by her friend, the gardener.”

“Not just friend, lover.” Avery’s voice was spiked with distaste.

“Indeed?” Kirlham raised an eyebrow. “Who would have thought it? Poor, overlooked little virgin, frustrated ambition. This was the fatal flaw in our plans, Avery, that we underestimated the venom of a woman scorned.”

“It’s not like that at all—” Before she could finish, a kick in the ribs sent her reeling and retching on the floor again. Tears squeezed from her eyes, though she hated that they should see her weakness. Still, they knew not that Walsingham was on his way. If she could find any way to delay their escape, she must take it.

“So, what are we to do with her?” Kirlham scowled down at her.

“I had thought to question her, but she seems a little confused at present. We could take her with us and interrogate her when she has recovered.”

“Nay. She might slow us down or give us away. Best kill her quickly, leave the body here and be on our way. By the time anyone finds her, we’ll be well on the road to freedom.”

Alys struggled to find her voice. “Murderers!”

“Oh, no. What we do is no crime.” Avery’s jaw was set.

“You sin against God. You plan to kill Queen Elizabeth. And who knows how many others?”

He prodded at her with the toe of his boot. “It is no sin to destroy the daughter of so unnatural a mother as Anne Boleyn. Our Lord upholds justice—it is unjust of a usurper queen to steal the freedom of a legitimate one.”

“That does not give you leave to slay the innocent.”

Kirlham snorted. “Pah! I am tired of this complaining. Dispatch her now, Richard, and come away. Once you have set the trap.”

Bending his head, Kirlham disappeared through the little door.

What trap? For whom?

Too miserable to move, too exhausted from her struggles to take breath and scream, Alys watched Avery’s movements, trying to understand his intent. He was bundling papers and cloths together in the center of the room. Then he breached what must be a small keg of gunpowder. He spread the explosive liberally about the room, piling it thickly around the papers. This done, he stood and looked about him, hands on hips.

He was going to destroy all remaining evidence by blowing up the room, setting fire to the house and very likely destroying everything. Surely Kate could not have condoned this? She must have been forced to agree—she’d never sacrifice her only home. Perhaps she’d been pressured from the very beginning, by her husband, or by his friends after his death.

Alys was given no further time to speculate. Avery’s eyes, glittering with cruelty, were focused on her. Very deliberately, he took his knife from its sheath and cut away a length of twisted gold cord from a tapestry. He wrapped it around both fists, snapping it tight between them. Was this to be her end then, to have the life choked out of her? Her hands flew protectively to her throat. For Kit’s sake, as well as her own, she would fight Avery to her last breath.

He threw himself down, pressing her back with his weight, the cord stretched painfully across her throat. She kicked and struggled, gouging at his body, yanking on his hair, biting his hands, anything she could think of.

She was no match for him. As her strength began to fail, the pressure at her neck grew greater, and her lungs cried out for air. Half-conscious, she heard a loud thud coming from the direction of Kate’s chamber, followed by a splintering noise.

Avery, intent on his murderous task, seemed oblivious. Through the blood and panic pumping in her ears, Alys heard the splintering sound again, louder still. This was followed by a crash, and the next instant, an axe sailed through the air and buried itself in the planking a yard from her head.