Page 106 of A Touch So Wicked

Elissa’s head shot up. The voice didn’t belong to the warder.

“Did you hear me, mistress?”

Lieutenant Belton. “Aye, I heard. What do you want?”

“You’re to come with me. The king wishes to see you.”

The dullness faded from Elissa’s eyes, slowly replaced by wary comprehension. “The king wants to see me? Has he condemned me to death?”

“I know not. Once you leave here, you are no longer my responsibility.”

Elissa rose unsteadily, a remnant of innate pride reasserting itself. “I canna appear before the king like this. I stink. I’ve not had a decent bath in more days than I care to recount, and my clothing reeks.”

Belton approached Elissa, his nose wrinkling as he cautiously sniffed the air. “Aye, mistress, there is indeed a rank odor about you.”

“Well,” Elissa demanded with a hint of her old pluck, “what do you intend to do about it?” Asserting herself again made her feel so good she automatically assumed the posture to accompany her attitude.

“Follow me. There’s a bathing room near my quarters. You may use it.”

“What about clothing? I refuse to appear before the king dressed like a pauper.”

“I’ll see if my wife has something suitable for you to wear. Come along.”

Elissa picked up her satchel and followed Belton along twisting passageways to the bathing chamber in his private quarters. Excitement raced through Elissa when she spied the large wooden tub that sat in the center of the tiny room.

Belton summoned a servant and ordered hot water for the tub. “Don’t tarry,” he warned. “The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

A half-hour later, wearing a drab, but clean, twill dress Belton’s wife had generously provided, Elissa was ready to learn her fate. That kind lady had even brought a bar of sweet-smelling soap and a towel, and had wished her well.

Elissa had just finished running a brush through her wet hair when Belton returned.

“Time to leave, mistress. Your escort awaits you,” Belton said.

Elissa followed Belton through dank corridors and down a narrow staircase to ground level. When he opened the door, unaccustomed light stabbed against her eyelids and she closed her eyes against the glare. When she opened them, she was surprised and somewhat heartened to find Captain Harding waiting for her. He was, after all, a recognizable face.

“Have you been ill, my lady?” Harding asked with concern. “You look peaked.”

Elissa stifled a humorless laugh. Saying she didn’t look well was a gross understatement. “A stay in the Tower isna conducive to good health,” she stated dryly.

Harding merely nodded as he helped her to mount, attached her satchel to the saddle, and guided their horses through the gate and across the bridge into London’s teeming streets. After being confined for so long, Elissa watched the people go about their business with rapt attention. Though she had little liking for London, she thought it an interesting city with its diverse population.

They reached Whitehall sooner than Elissa would have liked. She wasn’t eager to hear the fate the English king had decided for her. Captain Harding handed her down, retrieved her satchel, and ushered her directly to the king’s Privy Chamber and left her.

“God be with you, my lady,” Harding said as a palace guard opened the door to admit her.

Elissa froze, her fingers curled around the handle of her satchel as if it were her lifeline to sanity. The king beckoned to her but she couldn’t move. Facing her own mortality took tremendous courage, a commodity she was currently lacking.

“You may approach us, mistress,” the king ordered. When Elissa failed to respond, he said in an aside to Lord Pelham, “You tell her, perhaps she didn’t understand us.”

“Did you not hear His Majesty?” Pelham asked impatiently. “You may approach. Don’t forget to make your curtsy.”

Suddenly realizing she was making a spectacle of herself before the men and women attending the king, Elissa squared her shoulders and walked forward with all the aplomb she could muster. She performed her curtsy without appearing to grovel and waited for the hammer known as English justice to descend.

She heard a strangled sound coming from someone standing nearby but paid it scant heed, until she recognized the sound as her name. She turned her head, surveying the faces staring at her with avid curiosity. Her gaze swept past Damian, then snapped back to him. He wasn’t alone. Kimbra was with him, pressed close to his side. Rigid with disbelief, she blinked, but they were still there when she opened her eyes. Pain squeezed her heart. She needed no further proof that the man she loved had abandoned her.

How could she have been such a fool? Elissa wondered. Damian hadn’t wanted her, he wanted Misterly and would do anything to keep from losing his prize. Exactly how far would he go to that end?

“Mistress, are you attending us?”