“You don’t think it spineless of him to allow you to effect his rescue and then abandon you to your fate?” Avery shook his head and tutted condescendingly.
Despite her perilous situation, Alys’ blood boiled. She waved the dag at him. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
Her rage was her undoing. The instant the gun swayed away from him, Avery acted. He hurled the firescreen at her, and when she instinctively threw up her arms, he seized the gun and threw it across the floor. Before she could draw another breath, Alys had tumbled backwards onto her bed, with Avery’s weight pinning her down.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alys kicked and scratched as he fumbled for her hands, but was no match for his superior strength. Her exertions served only to knock them both sideways off the bed, where they landed on the floor in a tangle of blankets. Avery gradually worked himself up into a sitting position, holding Alys in front of him, her arms pinioned behind her back.
“Now, I think we’ve wasted enough time, Madam. Sir Thomas is most keen to question you, but not here. There’s too high a risk of us being interrupted by those ill-informed supporters of our so-called Virgin Queen. I advise you not to struggle any more—my temper’s not so sweet as it used to be.”
He twisted her wrist. “Any further trouble will result in more pain. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Her captor got to his feet, carrying her with him, then stilled. Dragging her around in front of him, he shoved a hand into her hair, forcing her head forward.
“What is that?” His voice bit into her ear.
She stared. There on the white sheet, presumably where Kit had rested, was a dark smear of blood.
“No, don’t answer that.” Avery’s tone was so icy it made her shiver. He wrenched her back to face him, pulling her hair cruelly. Her gaze locked with his, and she saw something ungodly in his eyes, something so cold-bloodedly evil, her knees almost gave way beneath her.
He brought one fist level with his cheek. “Slut!” He punched her so hard, she fell to the ground, head spinning. “Bawdy bitch! Harlot! Had I known you were so easy with your favors that you would take a stinking peasant to your bed… nay, it would be beneath my dignity. Pox-ridden hussy!”
She barely heard his words for the ringing in her ears and the intense pain in her face.
Lights flashed before her eyes, and she felt dizzy and sick as never before, scarcely aware of Avery heaving her upright and yanking her out of the door by the shoulder of her gown. When it ripped as he pulled her onto the landing, he grasped her belt, just managing to keep her on her feet as she staggered and stumbled in his wake.
Through the blinding pain, she was dimly aware of being taken into a chamber she recognized as Kate’s. There was someone else in there, a man. He made a scornful noise deep in his throat at the sight of her. When she felt something wet and warm slide down her cheek, she knew he had spat on her, and her misery and degradation were complete.
“Let that be a lesson to you for trying to poison me, bitch.” It was Kit’s guard. “Silence, fool. Just get the door open.”
Alys saw the paneled wall in front of her, and then, somehow, they were through it and into an enclosed space on the other side. The panel creaked back into place behind her. Avery flung her to the floor where she crawled around, disorientated. The wall-eyed man vanished. Gradually, she recovered enough to sit up, staring in horror at the man now pacing up and down the floor like a raging lion.
He had it all wrong, of course. Would he treat her any more leniently if he knew she hadn’t lain with Kit, that everything was above board? Somehow, she couldn’t find the words to plead innocence on that score—he had no right to judge her.
As she became more aware of her surroundings, she stifled a gasp. This secret room was richly decorated, with velvet drapes, and precious tapestries glistening in silver and gold. Several iron-bound chests stood open around the walls, disgorging wrappings and sheaves of paper. A few groats were scattered about the floor, even a gold angel, but as far as she could tell, the coffers were now empty. How much money had these traitors amassed, and whence had it come?
In the opposite wall was a narrow door opening onto an uninviting blackness. It was through this door that the wall-eyed man had disappeared. As she watched, the menacing frame of Sir Thomas Kirlham filled the opening. He strode across to stand over her.
“So, we have another traitor in our midst. Kate should have realized it was unwise to mistreat her poor relation. Women of breeding, when put down and scorned, become bitter and spiteful. Well, Mistress Barchard has well and truly taken her revenge, aided and abetted by her friend, the gardener.”
“Not just friend, lover.” Avery’s voice was spiked with distaste.
“Indeed?” Kirlham raised an eyebrow. “Who would have thought it? Poor, overlooked little virgin, frustrated ambition. This was the fatal flaw in our plans, Avery, that we underestimated the venom of a woman scorned.”
“It’s not like that at all—” Before she could finish, a kick in the ribs sent her reeling and retching on the floor again. Tears squeezed from her eyes, though she hated that they should see her weakness. Still, they knew not that Walsingham was on his way. If she could find any way to delay their escape, she must take it.
“So, what are we to do with her?” Kirlham scowled down at her.
“I had thought to question her, but she seems a little confused at present. We could take her with us and interrogate her when she has recovered.”
“Nay. She might slow us
