Chapter 15
When Elf awoke, she felt as if she’d been battered by the mighty Thames and thrown against the starlings at London Bridge. From dim memories of her dreams, she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t been.
Then she recalled tangled images of Fort sprawled bloodily over the box on which they had made love, dying because she had shot him . . .
No! She struggled for reality. That had been Murray, not Fort, and she hadn’t fired the shot. But she’d ordered it, which came to the same thing.
Then her brain cleared completely and she remembered that Fort had, indeed, been injured. In the leg.
She forced open her gritty eyes and sat up.
A leg injury might mean anything from a little blood loss to amputation, but either way, infection and death hovered.
Only last year, young Sir Francis Cornhallows had died of a trivial wound that turned septic because he would not let the surgeon clean out the bits of cloth forced into his flesh by the ball.
Her fumbling fingers found the bell rope and she tugged at it again and again, praying for Chantal to hurry.
She scrambled out of bed, easily able to imagine the arrogant Earl of Walgrave scaring away his doctors. And he had no one to gainsay him. Except her. A line of bright sunlight shot through the gap in her drawn curtains. It wasn’t night yet. There might still be time to make him see reason.
Chantal burst into the room, with Chastity only a step behind.
“Milady! You are awake!”
“Elf, how do you feel?”
Elf clung to the bedpost, assailed by a fit of dizziness. “Dreadful.” She could hardly speak for the dryness of her mouth. “Water. That would help.”
“You need more, milady,” said Chantal, and whipped away in a flash of dark skirts.
Chastity poured water from a carafe and brought it over. “I think I must echo your kind suggestion to me once. I suspect you would love a bath.”
“Lud, yes.” Elf drank the whole glass of water, then touched her hair. “Am I still powdered? I must look a veritable horror. But I have no time. I must go to Fort—”
Chastity pushed her gently to sit on the bed. “There is no need. He is in no danger.”
Elf stared into her sister-in-law’s eyes. “Has he been properly treated? Has the wound been cleaned?”
“Yes and yes. I assure you, I stood over him and bullied him just as much as you would want.”
“He will recover?”
“As always, that is in God’s hands. He’s in pain. Fevered. But he seems to be healing.”
The image of Fort in fevered pain had Elf off the bed again. “Surely it’s too early to tell if he will heal. Why are you here and not there? You’re his sister!”
Chastity eased her back down. “Elf, you have slept a day and a half. It’s Sunday afternoon.” She went to throw back the curtains, flooding the room with light, so Elf covered her aching eyes.
“A day and a half,” she murmured, “and the world carried on without me. The king?”
“Is safe.” Chastity refilled the glass and brought it over. “Cyn arrived in time.”
“Thank God. And the stone?”
“Has been quietly returned to Westminster Abbey, with some story of it having been moved in order to repair the throne. I must confess, I wasn’t aware of it being there at all. Do you believe in this idea of it conveying mystical kingship?”
Elf drank part of the water and stood again, more carefully this time. The dizziness seemed to have passed, so she moved about the room, feeling stiffness and aches in unlikely places.
That reminded her of a great many problems. She’d rather deal with the Stone of Scone. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem to do the Stuarts much good. They were crowned on it.”
“True. Did you hear about Cyn?”
“What?” A score of horrible possibilities leaped into Elf’s mind. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing bad . . .”
But then Chantal hurried in with a coffeepot, along with a neatly peeled and divided orange and a selection of cakes. On command, she bustled off to see to the bath.
Elf eyed the elegant tray. “Ask for water, and I get a meal. Please, have some and tell me what Cyn’s been up to.”
Chastity picked up a piece of orange. “As for up to, he and Rothgar exploded that mechanical toy, safely outside Windsor Castle, of course. However, Cyn first had to ride hell-for-leather to warn the king. Would you believe he found him standing right by that thing, in a ferment to turn it on, and only waiting for the queen to arrive?”
“Saints save us!”
“In this case, Cyn saved us. He hustled the king out of danger with a fair degree of military brusqueness. At that point, His Majesty doubted Cyn’s tale.
But when he saw the thing explode into a thousand lethal bits, George summoned Cyn back, clasped him to the regal bosom, and declared him Lord Raymore! ”
Elf stared at Chastity. “But why Raymore?”
Chastity was fighting to keep a straight face. “Apparently it’s the name of . . . of His Majesty’s favorite horse!”
They collapsed into giggles.
“And Rothgar,” gasped Chastity, “would only say that Cyn shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth! Particularly when the king accompanied the title by an estate to support the viscountcy.”
“A viscountcy! That advances him over Bryght and Brand. What does Cyn think about this?”
Chastity grinned. “Of course, you know him so well. Mostly, he’s embarrassed to be rewarded for merely doing his duty. He’s also slightly suspicious that Rothgar somehow arranged it all. You know how he’s always been about accepting support from the family.”
“He carries it to extremes.”
“I agree, but you know men.”
Elf thought of Fort and Sappho. “I am beginning to.” She turned to face her sister-in-law. “You know Fort and I were lovers.”
Chastity’s cheeks became a little pink. “Yes. I’m hardly one to throw stones.”
“But you loved Cyn.”
“True. Do you not love Fort?”
Elf turned away to look out of the window at the quiet of Marlborough Square. “Yes. It’s so foolish, though, to give my heart to an impossible man.”
“Perhaps all men are impossible. When I made love to Cyn, I believed marriage between us was impossible. I, too, wore disguise, though as it turned out he knew who I was. I gather Fort really didn’t recognize you.”
“Why would he even suspect anything so unlikely? And we spoke French nearly all the time.” She turned back to Chastity. “I’m very afraid I’ll be with child.”
“You must have thought of it.”
“After a fashion.” A nervous laugh escaped, and she smothered it with her hands. “It seemed simple enough in theory. But now . . .”
Chastity became very serious. “Even if you are with child, Elf, I don’t think he’ll marry you.”
That caused a pang, though she smothered it. “It would be unfair to expect him to. Our contract was clear.”
“Contract?”
Elf waved the question away and moved restlessly around her room. “For a moment last night, I wanted Bey to force a marriage. ’Twas madness, and Fort would rather die. But surely we shouldn’t just create a child and deny it its heritage . . . ?”
Chastity captured her and held her still. “Face battles when they come, not before. Advice from Cyn. Good advice.”
Elf collapsed into her arms. “I suppose it is. It will be weeks before I’ll know. Anything could happen by then.” Including Fort’s death from wound fever. Or—if he followed through on his threats and made a scandal—at the hands of one of her brothers. She wouldn’t be able to stop them then.
“ ’Tis a pity you didn’t take some precautions,” said Chastity, settling them both onto the sofa.
That reminded Elf of her last real conversation with her brothers. “Ah, yes. The whore’s tricks! I assume you’ve been using them, since you’ve been married now over six months.”
Chastity blushed. “Oh. Yes. Well, since we were expecting to travel to Nova Scotia, we didn’t want me to give birth onboard ship, or even travel with the extra burden of a child within me.”
“But how is it done?”
“A sponge soaked in vinegar is supposed to help prevent the seed taking root.”
“A sponge soaked in vinegar,” said Elf, puzzled. Then she added, “You mean, inside?”
Chastity nodded, quite red now.
“Goodness. But how does it . . . You put it there?”
“Or Cyn does.” Chastity turned away to take a piece of bread from the tray. “I don’t know quite what happened with you and Fort,” she said, fiddling with it. “But it’s not unusual for a man to touch a woman . . . there.” She turned back sharply. “If they are lovers I mean!”
“Yes, I see. Goodness,” said Elf again.
“It’s not the word most would use. Many would call it wicked to try to avoid God’s plan.”
“I can’t believe it would be God’s plan to have a heavily pregnant woman on a naval ship crossing the ocean, never mind giving birth there. Thank you for telling me. I think we should spread this word to all women.”
“Women and men do pass the word around. But it’s not approved or foolproof.
Nature’s urge to conceive is not easily thwarted.
In fact,” she said ruefully, “I’m beginning to suspect that nature has overcome in my case.
But don’t tell Cyn. He might try to delay the journey, and I am as eager as he to see the New World. ”
Whether from loss again of her twin, or fear of conception, or longing for a child, tears ached around Elf’s eyes. “Oh, I envy you!”
“The child or the New World?”
“The adventure of it all!”
Chastity hugged her. “If life here becomes too dull, just take sail and visit us among the forests and the Indians. We’ll find you all the adventure you could want!”
“Ah, but will it be wicked enough for me?”
They shared teary smiles, both knowing that the only adventure Elf really wanted was Fort. But then Chantal came in from the adjoining dressing room.
Chastity rose. “Your bath is ready, dearest, so I’ll leave you.”
Elf went through to her dressing room and took a long, thoughtful bath. She counted her scrapes and bruises, but mostly fretted about the possibility of being with child. What would she do if she were?