Free FLAME OF DESIRE by Katherine Vickery

her. He shook his head in confusion.
    Heather flushed as she wondered if he remembered what had passed between them, or had nearly done so, in the night, but the look in his eyes told her that he did not. He would no doubt think it all a dream.
    “You’ve been wounded,” she said stiffly, reaching for her soiled gown to cover her scantily clothed body.
    “How in hell….” He swore beneath his breath. His jaw tightened in anger as the memory of the deed came back to him.
    Slipping her full-skirted dress over her head, Heather quickly related all that she had seen and of how she had tended him and brought him safely to her father’s premises. All the while she kept her eyes cast down, fearing that he would read in them the emotions she was feeling at being so near to him.
    “And so you saved my life yet again,” he whispered. Lifting himself in an effort to sit up, he was engulfed in a wave of dizziness and sank back down in despair. “I am as weak as a kitten.”
    “You will gain back your strength. I know of healing herbs that will soon have you back on your feet. Trust me.”
    “Aye, I trust you,” he breathed. She looked at him and saw in his eyes the depth of emotion that was overwhelming and spoke more clearly than words could ever have done.
    He inhaled deeply of the morning air in an effort to clear his head of its whirling, then said, “The letter. Let me see the letter.”
    Heather withdrew the precious parchment from hiding and handed it to him. “Poor Mary,” she said softly. “I fear that it is too late for her to claim her rightful legacy.”
    He shook his head in denial. “No. It cannot be too late! I will not let it be. With every breath left in my body I will fight Northumberland.” He paused to catch his breath. “When the council sees this letter, knows that Mary has the courage and tenacious strength to fight for what is rightly hers, they will support her.” His voice was a croak, a whisper as he fought against the fatigue which threatened to engulf him.
    Heather could sense his frustration at being struck down at a time when he so needed to be strong, yet she knew that were he to attempt to complete his mission it could mean his death. He would be no match for his enemies in his weakened state. Thus she said, “You cannot think to go to the council.”
    In answer he gathered all his energy to sit up, his long legs dangling over the makeshift bed, his hand reaching out to steady himself on  the thick wooden beam of the low-ceilinged room.  On shaky legs he sought to stand, to walk, only to sink in desperation to the straw-covered wooden floor.
    Heather was at his side in an instant, offering her arms to him, pulling him to his feet, then pushing him back gently onto the hard bed.
    “Damn! Damn!” he groaned. “How can I ever forgive myself for failing my queen in her hour of need?” His face was a mask of defeat and sorrow.
    “Don’t say such tings,” she cried. “’Twas not your fault to be set upon and wounded.”
    “I should have been more careful.” In his weakness he leaned against her, his breath stirring her hair. “Now all is lost.”
    Heather could hear a voice answering him. Was that her voice speaking with such intensity? “All is not lost. I will deliver the letter to the council.”
    “You?” His eyes swept over her. “No! There is too much danger. How could a woman, a delicate woman, manage such a task? You have not the strength to force your way into that council chamber.”
    “Perhaps not the strength, but instead the cunning and courage that will be needed.” If he deemed Mary Tudor a heroine, she would prove herself to be one as well. “Do not underestimate the power of a woman.” Just because women could not sit on councils or in courts, did not have voice in government, did not mean they were without their influence, albeit a more subtle one than brute force.
    “But if you were to be caught…..”
    “That, sir, I will not allow to happen.”