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He yawned. “No, but you should have. We should have hired the first hackney back to London.”
“It’s still early. We’ll be back before the queen breaks her fast.”
He rose and padded, naked, to stand behind her. She admired the view of his body in the small mirror she was using. “I wish we could have lingered in bed a bit longer.”
Emily would have liked that except the more she was with him, the more she would miss him when he left. “You have your duty,” she said, looking up at him. “And we can’t risk the life of the queen.”
“We have to return before the footman.” He found his shirt, lifted it, frowned at the wrinkles, and pulled it on.
“He will have been deterred by the rain as we were,” she said.
“Certainly.” But he didn’t sound certain, and a tight ball of worry settled in the pit of Emily’s stomach.
Will dressed quickly, though, and left her in the chamber to see about securing a hackney for the journey back to London. Emily was too worried to sit still and tried to put the room to rights as best she could. Then she went to the window and stared out at the wet courtyard below. It was still dark and overcast in Wapping, and Emily hoped more rain would hold off until they reached London. Because the day was still so gloomy, she saw the door to the chamber open in the window glass. She didn’t turn right away, assuming it was the maid or Will returning. Instead, a man she had not seen before entered.
Emily froze, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. Perhaps he had the wrong room. Perhaps Will had sent him.
Perhaps he had come to harm her.
This last thought took root as he closed the door quietly, reached into his pocket and stalked closer.
And then everything happened so quickly. Emily spun around. “Do not come any closer.” She barked the order, which seemed to surprise the man. But he only paused for a moment before he pulled his hand out of his pocket, showing her the silver glint of a knife.
Emily didn’t pause. She lunged for the washstand, grasped the handle of the ewer and flung it at him. It landed a bit short, but he’d dodged to the side, and Emily jumped on the bed and threw pillows at him. It seemed to take her an eternity before she could manage a scream. Ridiculous, really, since screaming was probably her best chance of survival. Anyone in the inn might hear her and come to her aid.
“Will!” She screamed. “Help! Will! Someone help!”
The man caught the pillow she threw at him, tossed it aside, and lunged for her. She tried to run, but her skirts caught, and she tripped and rolled off the bed. She landed on her injured leg, and a flame of pain shot up her body. She looked up as the man peered down at her and raised his knife.
The door burst open, and the man’s gaze shot up and away, and all Emily could think wasThank God.She crawled away as Will burst into the room.
“He has a knife,” Emily yelled, but Will ignored her warnings and charged the intruder. Emily heard a crash as presumably both men went sprawling. The innkeeper must have been right behind Will because he was at her side and helping her to her feet. He tried to pull her out of the room, but she yanked her arm away and ran to the other side of the bed where Will and the intruder fought.
She saw blood and skidded to a stop. All the feelings of loss and pain she remembered from when she’d lost Jack welled upinside her. The anguish at never seeing him again, the torture of the long days ahead without him.
But with Jack, she’d had time to say good-bye. This was too sudden. She needed more time with Will. As though reading her thoughts, he turned to her. His eyes were dark, his face drawn. He stumbled back from the intruder and stood on wobbly legs. Emily gaped at the splash of red on his pale blue waistcoat and white shirt. She reached for him and pulled him hard against her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice raspy and low.
“No. I’m fine. But you—Will. You can’t die. I love you.”
“It’s not my blood,” Will said. “I’m fine. Come away.”
“Touching scene, so it is,” another voice said, and Will tried to pull Emily away, but she resisted. She looked down at the floor and saw the intruder with a hand over his side. Blood seeped through to cover his fingers in crimson.
“Emily, go,” Will said.
Emily stared at the dying man. “You’re one of them. The Irishmen trying to kill the queen.”
“Saw ye skulking about last night, so I did. I’d kill all of ye if I could,” he spat. “Eating and drinking and sleeping in yer fancy beds as though ye haven’t a care in the world. And in the meanwhile, me friends and family are dyin’.” He looked down at his wound. “Now I’m dyin’ too.”
Will looked at the innkeeper. “Fetch a surgeon. Hurry.”
“Too late for that.” The Irishman lowered his head to the floor. “I don’t mind dyin’. I’ll see that queen of yers in hell.”
“No, you won’t,” Will said. “You’ll stand trial for what you’ve done.”
“Too late,” the man whispered. “And ye can start back for London yerselves, but ye’ll be too late to save her.” He closed his eyes, and Will released Emily and bent down beside the man.
