To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) Page 22

  The look of horror and fear in James’s eyes matched how she felt. But Rafe looked composed, emotionless. He stood very still. Not even his eyes strayed from Barker.

  Barker let go of one of her arms, very briefly, then something cool and hard pressed against her throat. A blade.

  “No!” James screamed. “What are you doing?”

  Rafe still didn’t move but his face went white. His gaze sharpened. “Let her go,” he said, voice ominously low, “or I will kill you.”

  Barker’s chuckle rippled through the air above her. “Not before I kill her first.”

  A tremor racked her. She tried to hold herself together, make herself smaller. Barker reached an arm around her waist and held her hard against him. The blade bit into her skin and burning pain ripped across her neck. She cried out and struggled against him but he held her tighter.

  “Stop!” James screamed again. “You’ll kill her!”

  Rafe’s fingers twitched but he didn’t move. It was like he was frozen, except that his eyes grew darker. Blanker.

  “That is the whole point,” Barker said lazily. “To make your brother suffer. He loves her, you know. He’ll want to die without her. You’ll have your revenge.”

  “What?” James spluttered. “No! I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. He stole your woman. Admit it, you want him to suffer like you’re suffering now.”

  “You’re mad!” James screamed. He ran at Barker and Lizzy but Rafe caught him by the jerkin and held him back.

  Barker laughed again and switched the blade to the other side of her neck. Warm, sticky blood trickled from the cut he’d already made and she closed her eyes again as the blade pierced her skin once more. She couldn’t watch the horror in James’s eyes and the emptiness in Rafe’s. It was difficult enough trying to hold herself back from crying out in pain. She would not give the monster the pleasure of knowing he’d hurt her.

  Behind her, the door opened and Barker’s hand slackened. The warden must have—

  Before she’d even finished the thought or opened her eyes, she was knocked to one side. The blade didn’t touch her. She was free. James knelt at her side and bundled her into his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he gasped.

  She nodded and peered past him at the chaotic scene beyond. Rafe and Barker struggled like two ancient gods, their blows landing with bruising thuds. Sweat poured from their temples and mixed with blood dripping from cuts. Neither man seemed to have the upper hand.

  But Rafe couldn’t possibly win. Treece and several constables and wardens crowded near the door. They couldn’t get to Rafe past Barker, so they stood back, watched.

  Then Barker did something odd. He ducked under Rafe’s blow but didn’t rise. Instead, he lunged for the knife he’d dropped near Lizzy, and plunged toward her.

  She screamed.

  “Lizzy!” Rafe shouted and leapt at them. Something metallic flashed in his hand.

  Barker’s knife kept coming. And then it didn’t. It fell to the floor with a clank. He clutched his chest where a small dagger protruded.

  Rafe knelt on one knee and let go of the dagger’s handle. He was breathing hard. For a long moment, no one spoke or moved. Then Rafe reached down and closed Barker’s sightless eyes. He whispered something she couldn’t hear to the body then glanced up at Lizzy. Slowly, slowly, the blankness in his eyes dissolved, but it was replaced with something she’d never seen in him before. Something like the horror she felt, but a deep sadness too. Like he’d lost something very dear.

  She shivered and curled into James, wanting to be as far away from Rafe as possible. But James was staring at his brother.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. He was shaking, crying. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her for you.”

  Rafe looked up at the ceiling and the veins in his neck throbbed. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes as if in prayer and didn’t fight Treece’s men when they hauled him to his feet.

  “Her too,” Treece ordered. Two men took her between them.

  “I’ll find some way to get you out,” James called after them. “Both of you.”

  She was marched out of the cell behind Rafe. He didn’t once look back at her. His head remained bowed, his shoulders stooped. Meek and submissive. So very deceptive.

  CHAPTER 17

  Rafe didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he was put in a small cell with Lizzy. Treece told them it was a temporary measure until they could be moved to a prison more suited to their heinous crimes.

  When Treece closed the door and slid the bolt home, Rafe remained standing. Lizzy trembled in the corner. Her hair fell over her face, hiding her eyes. He didn’t need to see them to know she was terrified.

  “Lizzy.” He moved toward her and she scampered back into the corner. He retreated. “Lizzy, it’s still me. Nothing has changed. I haven’t changed.”

  She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I know,” she whispered.

  He hadn’t expected her to speak. That alone must have taken courage. His surprise meant it took longer for him to register what she’d said. But when he did, his heart lurched in his chest. Then it cracked. “I don’t understand,” he hedged.

  She shook her head and hid her face behind her knees.

  “You have to explain it to me!”

  She shivered again. “You told James you’re an…an assassin.”

  So she’d heard that. “Was. I was an assassin.”

  “And you hit that man, again and again. He couldn’t defend himself yet you kept hitting him. Then you killed Barker.”

  “He was going to hurt you!”

  “A change came over you.” She sniffed and glanced up through her hair then quickly looked away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “I don’t know you when you’re like that, Rafe. I’m beginning to think I never truly did.”

  He wanted to be sick. This wasn’t happening, was all wrong. “Lizzy. Don’t.” It was barely audible in the heavy silence of the cell.

  “I was a fool to think I could tame you,” she said.

  She spoke as if he were a wild animal. He was an animal. Something had shifted inside him when Barker had threatened her, something he couldn’t control. It had been the same with Briggs the big prisoner, and with his stepfather too. It was as if part of his mind shut down, the part where reason resided. It had been swallowed up by anger so dense he couldn’t see through it.

  “I knew what you were like,” she went on, her voice a whisper. “And yet I thought you’d changed. I thought…” She shook her head and buried her face in her arms.

  “You saw me that day,” he muttered. Blood pounded between his ears, and his legs felt weak. He sat down. He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  The scene came to him easily. He hadn’t thought of that day in such detail for many years. His stepfather had stormed out of the house after killing his mother. Her husband had never hit her before, never shouted so loud that the neighbors heard, but he’d ground her down a little bit every day for years with barbed words aimed at undermining her. Slowly he sucked the life out of her, a piece at a time, until she lost all her strength and will. She’d only hung on to life for the sake of her sons, especially for Rafe, the son by her first husband, who bore the brunt of his stepfather’s insidious wrath. He tried to thwart Rafe at every turn, spreading rumors and lies so that Rafe could not find work or keep friends.

  Then on that fateful day, his mother had found the courage to confront her husband. But she’d paid the price. He shoved her into the wall and her weakened heart had given out in fright. Rafe had seen it too late to stop it, but the change had come over him for the first time that day.

  He’d been in fights before but this had been different. Something flashed before his eyes, blinding at first then clearing so that his mind was empty of everything except hatred and anger so bright it hurt. The result was inevitable. He couldn’t have stopped himself beating his step
father any more than he could have stopped a boulder rolling down a mountain.

  Could he?

  Perhaps the youth of only twenty-two couldn’t, but the man of almost thirty should be able to. He thought he’d left that rash anger behind him, thought working with Hughe had taught him to control it. But it had not. The events of the day proved that.

  Lizzy had every right to be afraid of him. He couldn’t be trusted not to turn violent.

  He pulled his knees up in a pose that mirrored Lizzy’s and rested his forehead on them. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

  She said nothing and he didn’t look up to see what effect his words had. He couldn’t face seeing her disappointment, her fear, her sorrow.

  Nor did he look up when the bolt slid back and the door opened.

  “Don’t push,” snapped a familiar voice.

  “Lizzy!” cried another.

  Someone belched.

  Rafe raised his head. The cell had suddenly become crowded with the players of Lord Hawkesbury’s Men. Antony crouched beside Lizzy, his arms around her shoulders while the others settled themselves on the floor. Only Roger Style pounded on the door with his fist, protesting loudly at his incarceration.

  “Enough, brother,” Edward said. “There is nothing we can do.”

  “We’ll be out in a day or two,” Freddie said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Lord Hawkesbury will see to it.” He stretched out his legs, yawned, and closed his eyes. “Wake me when it’s over.”

  “He’s right for once,” the man named Henry Wells said. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “We aided fugitives! Murderers!” Roger pulled his hat off his head and pointed the long peacock feather at Rafe. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t killed Gripp—”

  “Roger!” Edward warned. “Stop worrying everyone. Our crimes are not bad. We’ll be released soon enough, perhaps with a fine—”

  “And who will pay the fine for each of you? Who will pay me for the lost revenue from the performances we must cancel? While we’re stuck in here, Burbage is stealing my audience.”

  Rafe watched Lizzy talking quietly with Antony in the corner. They didn’t once look his way.

  The players argued, gossiped, and sometimes sang as the sun tracked across the patch of sky visible outside the cell’s high window. Rafe guessed it to be midafternoon when Sir Robert Blakewell arrived. Rafe couldn’t deny that he was glad to see him. Blake had influence at court. Perhaps he could get Lizzy and the others freed.

  Blake greeted Lizzy affectionately and handed over money and two sacks, one with fresh clothes and one with food. They all thanked him profusely. The players sat down on the floor to eat.

  “Shakespeare told us as soon as he heard you’d been arrested,” he said.

  “Thank you for coming,” Lizzy said. She offered Blake a weak smile.

  He returned it. “Min is terribly worried, but I persuaded her not to come. A place like this is not safe for unborn babes. Nevertheless, it wasn’t easy to convince her to stay away.” Blake glanced from Lizzy to Rafe then back again. He forked a brow. “Something wrong?”

  Roger snorted. “We’ve been arrested for harboring murderers and bloody Burbage is going to reap the profits of our canceled shows. Of course something’s wrong!”

  “I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Antony said.

  Style ignored him and bit into a pie.

  “You have to petition the queen,” Rafe said to Blake. “If Lord Oxley were here, I’d have him aid you, but he’s not in London. What about Lord Hawkesbury?”

  “On his way to the palace as we speak. He’s not as favored by Her Majesty as he once was, but he still has influence.”

  “As do you,” Rafe said.

  “Rest assured, I’ll do what I can for you all.”

  Lizzy placed a hand on Blake’s arm. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You are a true friend.”

  “I keep telling you, we’re family,” he said. “Now that the witness is dead…” He glanced at Rafe. “…I think we can have you released easily enough. The players too.” Another glance at Rafe. “But…”

  “But not me,” Rafe finished for him.

  “Not as easily,” Blake said quietly. “I believe the witness wrote down what he saw and was very specific about you, less so about Lizzy.”

  Rafe dragged his hands through his hair and shut his eyes against the flood of relief that almost undid him in front of everyone. Lizzy could go free. Thank God.

  Composed once more, he opened his eyes. The players and Blake watched him. Lizzy did not. She was once more sitting on the floor, knees up, face buried in her arms.

  Rafe nodded. “Very well.”

  “You accept it?” Blake sounded outraged. “You accept your fate without a fight? I expected more from you, Fletcher, not this resignation.”

  Rafe shrugged one shoulder.

  “You are innocent of the murder, are you not?”

  “Of Gripp’s murder, yes. But consider this fitting punishment for other crimes.”

  “I knew it!” shouted Freddie, triumphant.

  “Hush,” said Antony. “That was a rumor.”

  “More than a rumor. The constables claimed the man Rafe killed today called him an assassin.”

  “He might have made it up,” Henry Wells said.

  “Certainly could have,” Edward said. “Can you really imagine Rafe as an assassin?”

  No one answered. All heads bent to avoid looking at Rafe. Lizzy seemed to shrink farther into the corner.

  Blake was the only one to meet his gaze. “I heard what he said to Lord Liddicoat. Everyone has.”

  No mention that he thought the claim false, a fabrication of Barker’s. It seemed no one considered that an option. “So all of London knows,” Rafe said. All his potential employers. If he ever got released—and that was a large if—then he would have to leave the city to find work.

  So much for turning over a new leaf and staying for James. Staying for Lizzy.

  “Liddicoat is not very good at keeping his mouth shut,” Blake said. “That’s why he needs someone like you to protect him. The fool may be a privy councillor, but he has a lot of enemies. Having you in his employ would enhance his personal guard considerably. They need training. As do the ones protecting Her Majesty. Undisciplined ruffians, most of them.”

  Rafe stopped listening as Blake kept talking. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did except that Lizzy might be free very soon. And Rafe was going to leave her, either in a coffin or by leaving London.

  Blake left with assurances he would do what he could to free them. The warden returned and said they could mingle with the other prisoners in the courtyard so long as they didn’t cause trouble. The troupe filed out one by one in search of conversation or to stretch their legs and Antony convinced Lizzy to go with him. In truth, she didn’t need much convincing. Indeed, she took one look at Rafe and the emptying cell and agreed to accompany him.

  Rafe watched her go with a bone-aching weariness. It pressed heavily on his shoulders, weighed him down, and squeezed his heart until he thought it would burst from the pressure. Perhaps he should go after her. He could try to convince her he wasn’t the monster she thought him.

  If she looked back at him, he would follow her out and speak to her. It would be a sign of her lingering affection. Even a small glance would mean she still cared for him.

  Look back. Look back at me.

  She didn’t.

  “You’re a fool, Elizabeth Croft,” James said. Lizzy sat with him on a bench in the prison courtyard as the afternoon light faded. “I never thought I’d say that, but there you are. You’re a fool, which makes me an even bigger fool but I can live with that. I have been one for quite some time.”

  “Have you finished?” she asked. “Because that’s no way to speak to your future wife.”

  He blinked. “You still want to marry me?”

  “Yes. When I’m released—”

 
“Wait.” He held up his hands. “I don’t recall asking you.”

  “Is that important? We had an understanding.”

  He gave her a withering glare then sighed. He leaned forward and rested an elbow on one knee and his chin on his palm. “Lizzy, stop this foolishness. I can’t wed you now. You know that.”

  Tears burned the back of her eyes. “Of course you can. It’ll be a perfect arrangement. You’re a tailor and I’m a seamstress. My wages can support us both until your apprenticeship is complete. We’ll live next door to my parents, or perhaps with them, and we’ll all sew and be happy. We will be happy, James.”

  He put a finger to her lips. “You cannot talk yourself into happiness with me, Lizzy. You don’t love me. You love him.”

  She shivered and couldn’t stop. It felt like her whole body rattled with cold. “He’s not the man I love. He’s violent and dangerous. You’re nothing like that, James. You’re kind and tender. That’s what I want in a husband.”

  “No, Lizzy,” he said again. It wasn’t until he pried her fingers from the front of his jerkin that she realized she’d been clutching it. “What you want in a husband is Rafe.”

  “Aren’t you listening to me? Your brother scares me half to death! I will not marry him. I can’t bear to be in the same room as him.”

  He gripped her shoulders and she expected him to shake her until her teeth loosened, but he did not. He looked at her with all the kindness and tenderness he possessed and she knew she would never love him. Not like she wanted to. Not like she loved Rafe.

  She burst into tears. “Why couldn’t you have just shaken me?”

  “What?” he said, drawing her into a hug.

  She let her tears flow and when they finally eased, she felt better. Empty on the inside, swollen in the face, but better.

  “Now listen to me,” he said, dipping his head to meet her gaze. “I know I haven’t been the sensible one of late. I’ve been selfish and stubborn and not seeing things clearly.”