"He covets the throne. And Elizabeth gives no indication of abdicating or of dying of natural causes."
"Then he is mad. The people will not rally round him when they learn what treachery he employed."
"The people will never know. Elizabeth will die this day of a hunting accident. Her subjects will grieve. And Norfolk will. lead them in their mourning."
Morgan watched the slight fluttering of the curtains at the window. If he were to fling himself at Windham, the momentum might carry them both through the open window. But if he were not quick enough, Windham would have time to cut Brenna. It was a calculated risk. There was a time when he would have easily risked it. But now, his love for Brenna changed everything. He was not certain he could risk her safety.
"What will you gain from all this?"
Windham tugged on Brenna's arms, causing her to gasp in pain.
"A.
grateful new king will grant me any request. My first may be marriage to the lady who has stolen your heart. "
"I would die first," Brenna hissed.
"And I would tell everyone what you did this day."
Morgan felt a little thrill at the way Brenna, even now, would stand up to this coward.
"Careful, my lady. If you should become tiresome, I will see that your wish is granted." Windham went on as though he had not been interrupted.
"My second request will be your lands and titles, Grey."
"My brother, Richard, is next in line to inherit. He would fight you."
"After the queen's accident, Richard will have to suffer a fatal attack. Perhaps I will have him fall from his chair onto a well-placed knife."
Morgan felt a fresh wave of hatred at this monster who calmly planned the deaths of all the people close to his heart. His hands clenched at his sides. There was no time left for strategy. He leaped forward, catching Brenna by the arm and casting her aside.
Windham caught him with the sharp blade of his knife, tearing his flesh from shoulder to wrist.
Before Morgan could pull back, Windham lunged forward.
"Prepare to meet your maker, Grey."
Brenna watched in horror as the knife plunged into Morgan's tunic above his heart. When Windham pulled it out, blood streamed from the gaping wound, soaking the front of Morgan's clothes.
Morgan's face was ashen. But despite his wound, he struggled with Windham and brought him to the floor where the two men writhed and thrashed and fought for control of the knife.
Brenna picked up Morgan's sword and turned just as Windham scooped up the knife and knelt over Morgan. As he moved his hands in a downward stroke, Brenna thrust the blade of the sword, aiming for Windham's heart. At the last moment he turned, taking the blade in his shoulder.
With a shriek of pain Windham rolled away. Before Brenna could strike again Windham lifted the knife and again plunged it into Morgan's body.
"Now, my lady," Windham said with a sneer, "I fear you must join your lover in death."
He towered over her, lifting the knife for the fatal plunge. As the blade came crashing down, Brenna felt it tear through her flesh and scrape against bone. Pain engulfed her. The sword dropped from her hand and she crumpled to the floor.
"I leave you to watch your lover's lifeblood spill on the floor of a lowly tavern. And yours with it. As for me, I have an appointment with destiny."
From some distant part of her mind, Brenna heard his booted footsteps cross the room and descend the stairs.
With a cry of pain and rage Brenna forced herself to crawl until she was lying across Morgan's still form. All the tears she had kept locked inside now spilled forth, mingling with the blood that spilled from his wounds.
Thick, impenetrable clouds of mist shrouded the waters of the Thames.
Morgan struggled to keep his head above water,
but each time he came up for air, the mist closed in, choking him.
When he struggled to the surface, shafts of pain crashed through him.
His lungs ached, his arm, his shoulder. The pain was too great. He longed to slip once more beneath the waters and drift until his life slowly ebbed. In death there would be relief from the pain.
"He heard Brenna's voice from a great distance. Brenna. His beloved Brenna. To see her face once more, to hear that voice, he would risk the pain. But only once more. Then he would give up the battle.
Setting his teeth against the pain he struggled to the surface. Her voice was close now. He could hear her calling his name. His eyes opened and were assaulted by blinding lights. Hundreds of candles blazed, burning his eyes. He quickly blinked, then tried again. This time, though the light was too bright, it did not blind him. He moved his lips, but no words came out.
"Morgan. Please, Morgan. You must try."
Swimming? he wondered. Did she want him to swim? He could feel the water, all around him, warm, sticky. He gazed down at his arm and saw that the water of the Thames had turned to blood red.
Blood. He was not in the water. He was bleeding. And though Brenna was frantically tearing strips of her gown to stem the flow, the blood was seeping through the dressings.
He watched in horrified fascination as Brenna tightened a bandage on his arm until the blood slowed to a trickle. Working quickly, she applied another dressing, then moved to the wound in his chest.
By the light of the candle she saw the glazed look in his eyes and knew that the pain was unbearable.
"Fight, Morgan. You must fight the pain and stay alive. The queen needs you."
The queen. He struggled to remember. As Brenna bound him tightly, he clamped his mouth down on the oath that sprang to his lips. With the pain came remembrance. Windham was on his way to kill the queen. He had to be stopped at all cost.
"Help me to stand."
"Aye." Brenna draped his arm around her shoulder, then slowly helped him to his feet.
"My sword."
She slipped it into the scabbard at his waist.
With her help he walked to the stairs. Each step brought a knife thrust of pain, swift, sharp, cutting off his breath. But at last they had managed to descend the stairs. When he pulled himself into the saddle, Brenna saw the way his lips whitened. But he caught up the reins and led the way as she struggled into the saddle and urged her mount to follow.
He noted that she held her arm at an odd angle.
"You are wounded."
"Aye. Windham thought he had killed us both." Her gaze met his.