Chapter Two
The servant, called Joan, led Maddy back to her captor. This time the woman didn’t hold on to her. She must have decided Maddy wouldn’t try to escape, since she hadn’t shown any signs of doing so while eating, bathing, or dressing. Her pace was slow due to her sore and swollen ankle, but Joan was patient and did not try to hurry her along.
Maddy sighed with relief when she saw that a settle had been brought in and placed before the table, evidently for her benefit. For the moment, she was alone in the chamber, dark save for the fire burning in the hearth and the meager light slanting in through the arrow slits. Free of the hunger pangs that had plagued her for days, her mind felt clear and sharp. She’d been able to think about the questioning she must submit to and had devised a strategy. Her interrogator had revealed various facts he knew about her; perhaps she could bargain with him. A pardon in exchange for information, though if indeed she’d committed treason—and Maddy was reasonably sure she had—she would be lucky to obtain one. As far as she knew, nobody had yet been pardoned for taking part in the rebellion that had occurred last November, the debacle that had forced her onto the path that had ended here at Carlisle Castle. Indeed, punishment had been meted out using martial law, which granted the queen limitless powers during wartimes. Maddy’s brother had been hanged within a month, without even a trial. He and scores of others. Where was the justice in that?
But she was no outlaw, merely a woman with a grievance. Her strategy was to plead her case as the sole protector of her sister-in-law and niece and nephews. Not only had they lost a brother, husband, and father, but their land and most of their goods had been confiscated. Maddy’s family needed her, and it was her duty to care for them.
The door opened and in strode her captor. Master Ryder, as Joan had called him. He was a tall, imposing figure. She had already taken note of his clear, green eyes, and had she felt more herself, she would have found him quite attractive.
He nodded at Maddy before taking a seat behind the big oak table, which, thank Our Blessed Lady, was pushed close to the hearth. Carlisle Castle was a cold, damp fortress, not fit for human habitation, in her opinion.
“You look…” His voice tapered off. “Did you eat something?”
“I did, sir. I am most grateful for the food and drink and the clean clothing. And even more so for the chance to bathe.” She glanced down at her plain bodice and skirts. Nothing fancy, but warm and serviceable, and not that far removed from her usual attire. He was being kind, the better to induce her to talk. She understood that, but for now she would behave in an appropriately obliging manner, even though she knew his kindness was simply a means to an end.
His gaze was fixed on Maddy’s face. “Will you talk to me now?”
She inclined her head, very slightly.
“Tell me how you were injured. You are limping.”
Maddy smiled sheepishly. “I twisted my ankle when I was descending the stairs to the cells. Clumsy of me, but in my defense, the steps are crumbling away to nothing, and even without shackles on my ankles they would have been difficult to manage.”
He made no answer, merely studied her. A massive log on the hearth split apart, shooting sparks up the chimney. After a time he said, “It should have healed by now, since it cannot have been put to much use this week. We shall have a physician look at it.”
“Do not trouble yourself, sir.”
“It is no trouble. There are several residing in the town.” He took up his papers and examined them.
She waited mere seconds, then said, “May I know your name, sir?”
“Ryder. Nicholas Ryder.”
He set his papers down and pinched between his brows, as though he had a headache. “Perhaps the most efficient way to approach this is for you to tell me how and why you became involved in Leonard Dacre’s raid.” He leaned back in his chair and waited.
Maddy thought for a moment. It would do no harm to tell the truth if she left out names. “You know what happened to my brother?” When he nodded she went on. “Then there is nothing much to tell. I had not wanted him to get involved in the rising, but he’d always been—from childhood—impulsive, even reckless. And Northumberland made rash promises to those who would join with him, including rewards when it was over. Robert thought every able-bodied man in the West March should show loyalty to the lord.” Maddy could feel her gorge rising, so she paused to calm herself before proceeding. Master Ryder was leafing through his papers, head down. She was an annoyance to him—a fleabite or a persistent itch. “I begged him not to take part, to consider what it could mean for his family, but in the end he ignored my counsel. I believe it is almost obligatory to disregard the advice of a woman, especially one’s sister.
“When the rebellion ended so speedily, the leaders, as you well know, escaped to Scotland. The poor foot soldiers were left to the queen’s retribution, which was immediate. And harsh.”
Master Ryder’s head snapped up. His eyes, now gone cold, lanced into her. “What would you have expected? Those men, your brother included, were traitors.”
“I could perhaps forgive the queen for her brand of justice had it been meted out without consideration of money, rank, or land ownership. Those who possessed such attributes have not been executed.”
“With the wealthier families, nobles among them, the workings of justice proceed more slowly.” He resumed looking at his papers and making notes, but Maddy thought she detected a note of unease in his tone.
“Do enlighten me, then, sir. I had always believed justice was blind. Why should it be different for the wealthy?” Time in the cells must have dulled her wits. Otherwise, she would never have spoken thus to him.
Ryder dropped his quill and rose. He began pacing, hands behind his back. The room, drafty and dark, was growing cold. As if sensing Maddy’s discomfort, he went to the hearth and placed a few small logs on the fire, then spent considerable time adding kindling, poking at it, and even using the bellows to encourage it to catch. At last he returned to his desk.
Apparently, he was not going to address her concern, because he said in a flat voice, “It is not for you to question the queen’s actions. Pray continue with your tale.”
Her comments had made him uneasy rather than truly angry. She had feared he would punish her for challenging him, return her to her cell to rot. But instead, she sensed only annoyance and his own disquiet. Most interesting. “My sister-in-law and I, and my niece and nephews, were forced to leave our home—which has been in the Vernon family through many generations—and take up residence with her parents. Their home is small. While they, of course, welcomed their daughter and her children, they were less than pleased to do the same for me. I was a Vernon, after all, and shared the disgrace my brother had brought down upon them. At times, it felt as though I was the only one who truly mourned him.
“I did what was required of me and more. The care of the children was left almost entirely up to me. They—including my brother’s wife—began treating me like a servant. So when I heard rumors, I took note. I was not usually inclined to listen to gossip, but I did so now, discreetly. It did not take long to discover what was afoot.”
“And where did you hear the rumors?” He had been recording Maddy’s words but paused and looked up at her.
“The usual places. The marketplace, fairs, the alehouse—even at Sunday services. After a time, I heard of clandestine meetings and I began attending them.”
“Had you no care for the safety of your family? Of yourself?” he asked sharply.
“Sir, I witnessed a beloved brother hanged in the market square, even though I pleaded for his life before the Council of the North.” That had been one of the worst days of her life. The councilors had been contemptuous, dismissed her before she had even finished her statement. It had been her last chance to save Robbie’s life, and she’d failed him.
Ryder’s eyebrows lifted, but he made no comment, only gestured at her to continue.
“I stood by, helpless, while rude soldiers from the queen’s army stole my household goods, and I considered myself lucky they did not rape me.” She was standing now, leaning into the table with her hands propped on the desk, glaring at him. The words were out before Maddy realized what she’d said, and she ducked her head in shame. The room was silent. He was silent. Before he could command her to do so, she lowered herself to the settle and continued, more subdued.
“And then the queen’s ‘other’ agents came, the ones dealing with land and property, to inform me that we were to be deprived of our house and land. Even our livestock. That we must find somewhere else to live. I suffered all this, and you ask if I had no care for the safety of my family? By the time of these meetings, I had no care for anything but revenge. I was mad for it.”
…
Was she indeed mad? Nicholas would need to reconsider his plan if that were the case. Her eyes glittered with a fervor he’d never before witnessed in a lass. She was bold; he would concede that. “Ah. So you admit it was revenge you sought rather than justice.”
She took so long to answer, he finally prompted her. “Well?”
Now she appeared more rational. “Aren’t revenge and justice sometimes the same thing? Was the queen seeking justice when she ordered the execution of the rebels? Or was that retribution?”
Rational but saucy. Too saucy for her own good. But by God, she made a good argument. Judging from her smug expression, she knew it. “It is not for you to question the queen’s actions,” he repeated.
He needed to change tack. Regain control of this interview. “Tell me, pray, what weighed more heavily with you in seeking revenge? The loss of your land and goods—and being treated like a servant—or the summary hanging of your dear brother?”
Madeleine Vernon’s reaction was immediate. Her blue-green eyes shone, but she blinked away her tears. Turning her gaze to one side, she said, “All of it. It all weighed heavily with me.” Her voice was so soft, he had to lean forward to catch her words. That peculiar mix of courage and vulnerability struck him again, and he regretted having to hurt her.
“And you believed joining up with Dacre and his band of outlaws, reivers, and the like would provide you an opportunity for what you sought?”
“Have you never been so angry your reason goes begging? Your actions belie common sense and good judgment? That is why I joined Dacre’s rebellion; that is why I remained, even though I could plainly see we would fail. It was madness, I know that now, but—” She stopped speaking abruptly, as though she’d run out of words.
In the sudden silence, voices drifted in from outside the door. Nicholas grasped his quill but only stared at the sheet of foolscap before him. He had, on rare occasions, abandoned good sense and judgment and allowed anger to rule him in his dealings with his father. But unlike the Vernon lass, he’d never risked his life. When she spoke, her words surprised him.
“Sir, is there any hope of a pardon for me?”
Could it be so easy? He schooled his face to blandness. “I believe, mistress, under certain circumstances, a pardon for you may be possible.”
She gawked at him, looking skeptical. “In exchange for what?”
“I have a job for you. If you perform well, do what is required, you will be granted a pardon.”
For a moment she said nothing, and he feared she would drive a hard bargain.
“If I refuse?”
“Under martial law, it would not go well for you, I’m afraid. You would most likely suffer the same fate as your brother.”
She flinched, and he heard her quick, indrawn breath. “I would be hanged? But I killed no one, hurt no one! How could this be a hanging offense?”
“As I believe you are aware, Mistress Vernon, you committed treason. You conspired against the queen. Whether or not you succeeded is beside the point. You had the intent.”
She seemed stunned, and her words tripped over each other in a jumble. “But I did not…I never meant to…I am indeed sorry for what I did.”
“I sense you need some time to think on this, mistress.” Nicholas walked to the door and called for the guard. “Escort Mistress Vernon back to her cell. And mind you go slowly. She is injured.” He gave her a practiced look full of mockery and contempt.
And now for the final blow. “You say your actions harmed nobody. Yet you have not inquired after your friends, the Dodds. Do you not wonder what became of them?”
She stilled. “Pray, tell me, sir.”
“Mistress Dodd’s head was split open by a lance. If it makes you feel any better, I believe death was swift.”
“Oh, no.” Her words emerged on a moan. “And what of Charles?”
“Young Charles told me all I needed to know about you. How you persuaded him and his sister, through lies and trickery, to join the raid. I sent him home. He did his duty.” Nicholas opened the door and motioned to the guard to take her.
Despite tears spilling out, she held her head high, and he admired her for that. His words had been cruel, but he suspected they’d had the necessary effect. Nicholas needed to bend her to his will. He did not like doing so, but it was the only way to convince her to cooperate.
…
Maddy lay on the straw and wept for a long time. The jailer had brought her a meal, but she felt no hunger, only a deep sadness. Instead of being content with pursuing revenge on her own, she had convinced her friends to join Dacre’s raid along with her. The Dodds were younger than Maddy and easily influenced. They too had been outraged by the injustice of Robert’s hanging, and, with the impulsivity of youth, had agreed to join, seeming enthusiastic about the plan. Ann, sweet, kind Ann, looking forward to marriage and a family. Maddy didn’t blame Charles for revealing whatever secrets he thought he knew of her or embellishing the truth about why they had participated in the raid. He probably hated her as much as she hated the queen and her henchmen. Perhaps it would be for the best if they hanged Maddy; then she would not have to see Charles ever again. All the years she had suffered through Robert’s ridiculous and irresponsible schemes, and all the times she’d tried to talk sense into him, had she learned nothing? In the end, she’d been as foolish and impetuous as he.
Why had she not listened to her sister-in-law, Kat, the only person Maddy had confided in, the only one with whom she had shared her intention? Kat had begged her not to do anything so capricious, had even asked if she wanted to end up like her brother. At the time, the vehemence of her reaction surprised Maddy. Now, she realized Kat had had the sense to see where this would lead—down the same path trod by Robert. She wished to God she’d listened to her.
She slept fitfully, rising only to relieve herself. After a long time, she heard voices and smelled food. Morning, then. What difference did it make? Morning, afternoon, night, they were all the same in a cell. Her door opened and her meal was brought in, but she stayed as she was.
“The master says you’re to eat,” the jailer said.
“I’m not hungry. Take it away.”
“Master says we’re to feed you if you won’t feed yourself.”
At that appalling statement, Maddy pulled herself up. “What, force me to eat? You can’t do that!”
He cast her a threatening look. “Oh, aye, we can. I’ll hold you down while another guard spoons the food into your mouth. You’ll either choke on it or swallow it.”
“Leave it. I’ll eat it.”
“I’ll stand right here while you do.” Implacable, he did not move. She lifted the bowl and drank some of the soup, then dipped the hard bread into the broth and bit off a piece. Then another, until she’d consumed most of it.
“That is all I can eat.”
“You’re to eat some of the meat.” He took a menacing step toward her. “Go on. Don’t make me shove it down your craw.”
Repulsed, Maddy picked up a chunk of the meat. It shone with grease and was gristly in the bargain. She’d vomit if she ate it. Letting it drop back into the bowl, she said, “Pray you, good sir, my digestion is unsettled. If I eat this, I’m sure to cast up everything I’ve already eaten. Surely Master Ryder would not be happy about that.”
He wrapped his filthy fingers around a piece of the meat and stepped closer to her. “Open your mouth, wench.”
She shook her head and kept her mouth closed.
“Damn you, open your mouth!”
Maddy pictured what it might be like. She would choke, first on the food itself, then on her own vomit. Blindly, she reached out for the bowl, intending to feed herself a piece of the vile fare. Apparently, the jailer thought she was trying to do him harm, because he cuffed her in the face as hard as he could. She fell, howling with pain. He threw down the bowl, and it hit her in the chest, spilling onto her clean bodice. Rolling onto the straw, sobbing, she managed to scream, “Take me to Master Ryder! Right now, do you hear me? I demand to see Ryder!” The door slammed shut. She picked up the cursed bowl and heaved it against the wall.
Maddy lay there for what seemed a very long time, wallowing in pain and humiliation, before she heard the door burst open. The jailer grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet. “You’re in luck, wench. Master Ryder has summoned you.”