Page 123 of The King's Man
‘The boat sails at high tide,’ Jem Marsh remarked. ‘You better hurry.’
Kit rose to his feet, flinching as the bruises and cracked ribs caught in the unaccustomed movement. Thamsine secured his injured arm in a neat sling, tied his cloak, and picked up his hat.
‘My sword?’ Kit looked around the room.
She indicated his chest. ‘Packed. You won’t need it and you can’t use it anyway.’
She slipped an arm around his waist but Kit shrugged her off.
‘I can manage just fine, thank you,’ he said, regretting his stiff-necked pride as he took a few uncertain steps towards the door. After the long inactivity, he felt stiff, sore, and as weak as a kitten.
Jem shouldered the box and followed Kit down the stairs. May and Nan waited at the bottom of the stairs. To his embarrassment, May was snuffling into her apron. She threw her arms around Kit, an action that caused him to recoil as everybarely healed bone in his body jarred. Undeterred, she sobbed into his jacket. He patted her back and looked at Jem for help
‘Come on, lass,’ her brother said gruffly, ‘’nough of that. They’re leaving and that’s that.’
May let him go and sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, before flinging herself at Thamsine, who kissed her on the cheek.
At the foot of the stairs, they stopped. Half a dozen heavily armed soldiers stood in the taproom.
‘What will we do?’ Thamsine clutched his arm.
‘Well, I’m in no position to make a bolt for it,’ Kit replied. ‘We’ll just have to brazen it out.’
Nan sauntered forward to address the officer in charge. ‘What’ll it be, Cap’n? A pot of ale for your men?’
The officer gave her a contemptuous glance and his gaze moved to Kit and Jem.
‘We’re seeking one Christopher Lovell,’ he said. ‘Last known to be lodging at this establishment.’
‘Don’t know who you mean, Captain. Now if you’ll excuse us, this gentleman has a boat to catch.’ Jem made to move but three of the soldiers now moved into his path, another three behind them.
The officer squared up to Kit. He stood half a head shorter, square and pugnacious next to Kit’s lean form.
‘A dark-haired man two yards high, injured arm.’ He looked at the sling on Kit’s right arm. ‘Scar over the right eye. I think we’ve got the right man, lads. Christopher Lovell, I have a warrant for your arrest.’
‘Indeed? On what charge?’
‘Treason. Do you deny you’re Christopher Lovell?’
Beside him, Thamsine gave a quick indrawn breath. He could neither run nor fight. He glanced at his wife. Surely she could see resistance was pointless?
He turned to the soldier. ‘I’m in no position to deny anything. I am Captain Christopher Lovell, late of His Majesty’s forces. Where do you intend to take me?’
‘My orders are to convey you to the Tower.’
Kit closed his eyes to suppress the shudder that ran through him. He dreaded the Tower again, and this time he knew there would be little hope of reprieve. As the soldiers moved forward, Kit held up his good hand.
‘I am unarmed and, as you can see, in no condition to resist arrest,’ he said. ‘I’ll come peacefully. Just let me say farewell to my wife.’
He turned to face Thamsine, hating himself for the tears in her eyes. She had known the dangerous game they both played but he was responsible for everything that had befallen them and for that he would never forgive himself.
Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. ‘I’ve no choice, Tham. This is a corner from which I have no escape.’
‘This is Thurloe’s doing!’ she whispered in French, her voice tense with anger.
Kit shook his head and replied in kind. ‘No. It’s not his style. Whatever else he is, he’s a man of his word. This could be any one of the others. They all knew where I lodged. I’m just surprised it has taken them so long to seek me here. Be strong, Thamsine,’ he said and bent his head to kiss her.
Her lips quivered beneath his touch and she leaned her head against his chest. ‘Kit … ’
