Page 102 of His Betrothed
Chapter 28
When Spencer was shown to his quarters in the Beauchamp Tower within the Tower of London garrison, he could not believe such a spacious, well-windowed room was a prison. But when he looked out of the windows to the east he could see the White Tower, where they could rack him in their search for answers; to the northwest he could see Tower Hill, where they could remove his headif they weren’t satisfied with his replies.
And he could still see the Thames, where the barge had carried him beneath Traitor’s Gate, which had dropped down behind him with a finality that would ruin many a night’s sleep.
But for two days no one came to question him. He was provided with ample food and a feather mattress and blankets for his bed; he could even talk to Alex through a loose floorboard—whenAlex would speak to him. Such lax treatment of a prisoner made no sense.
And gave him too much time to dwell on Roselyn.
He imagined her riding Angel, bound for the island, safe at last from the dangerous politics he had swirled about her.
But part of Spencer worried that she wouldn’t flee, that she’d think she could help. In the past few short weeks, she’d become a woman who took foolishrisks just for him—and he didn’t know what to make of it. It contradicted everything he ever believed a woman could mean to him.
So he continued to pace, pondering Rose and his love for her and the impossibility of it all, until Alex pounded on the floor beneath him to make him stop.
After sending a missive to Queen Elizabeth asking for an audience, Roselyn waited two days for a reply. Eachhour of each day made her more and more certain that Spencer was being tortured for information, that the soldiers were looking for any excuse to have him killed and the problem of his treason finished.
She couldn’t sleep; she could barely eat—and then only when Lady Thornton personally watched each mouthful that passed her lips.
“If only I could see him,” Roselyn said yearningly as she brokeher fast on the third day of Spencer’s imprisonment.
“You know I cannot allow that,” Lady Thornton said.
“But with the proper bribe, I know the guards will allow me to see Spencer. I have heard of such things.”
“Perhaps, but my son would not wish you to place yourself in danger. You must trust Her Majesty in this matter.”
“Trust?” she said, coming to her feet. “How can I trust—”
There wasa discreet knock on the door, and Lady Thornton called for the visitor to enter. The steward, Allbright, opened the door and bowed.
“My lady, there is a message from Whitehall. Her Majesty intends to formally accuse Lord Thornton of treason this afternoon.” He paused for only a moment. “I have ordered your barge prepared.”
Lady Thornton and Roselyn almost collided in their haste to leave thedining parlor.
“Change your gown, Roselyn,” Lady Thornton said breathlessly as they ascended the stairs to the second floor. “We must look our best for the queen.”
“I’m retrieving my cloak only, my lady,” she said, glancing down at the dark green woolen gown she wore. “I will not pretend that I have returned to my old life; the queen will know that as a falsehood.”
“But her respect—”
“I willearn her respect again,” Roselyn said firmly as she disappeared into her own chamber.
But when she tried to work the clasp on her cloak, she found that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. This would be her only chance to save Spencer. What she did this afternoon could result in his death—or a life with him.
But not until Roselyn stood in the arched doorway to the queen’s privy chamberdid she realize just what she had to face.
Two years before, she had made herself an outcast to these people who now turned to look at her with contempt. Every courtier and nobleman was dressed in bejeweled satins and silks, puffed and painted.
Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Cambridge, stood near the queen as if they’d been invited to watch Roselyn’s final defeat. Though she thought herfather might feel sympathy, he wouldn’t dare to show it beneath the cold, watchful eyes of his wife.
To face it all again hurt more than she could have imagined. It was as if beneath these condemning eyes, she relived every mistake she’d made and was judged anew for them.
But for Spencer she would bear it all; for Spencer she would make public every miserywith which she’d been punished forher recklessness: poverty, neglect, even the death of her child. She could only apologize for her past mistakes, and pray that the queen would listen to her.
Roselyn lifted her chin and walked slowly down the path opening between the courtiers, with Spencer’s mother at her side. Soon she could see the raised dais where Queen Elizabeth sat on her golden throne beneath a canopy of estate. She woreelegant black and white satin, encrusted in garnet and rubies that glittered when she moved, along with the jewels that decorated her ears and throat and fingers. Beneath her red wig, the queen’s whitened face wore a stern frown.
To the queen’s right, Spencer and Alex stood unbound near a phalanx of guards. The brothers still wore the same rumpled garments, but looked unharmed. Roselyn’s reliefnearly brought her to tears, and she shook off Lady Thornton’s restraining hand to run to Spencer.
