Free FLAME OF DESIRE by Katherine Vickery Page B

be about her duties quickly, for there was much to be done yet before she could see about Richard Morgan’s letter.
    “Richard Morgan.” The name sounded well upon her lips. It was a fine name, one that suited him. She smiled as she thought about the way in which they had met. Had he claimed her heart even then? she asked herself, and knew the answer to be yes. He had brought excitement to her life, and love, something she had not experienced much of in recent years. No more would she be the merchant’s daughter, spending her days in boredom among her father’s weights and measures. She had tasted of passion and adventure. And who knew what might happen? Perhaps when Richard Morgan left he would take her with him. This she knew was her fondest hope.
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
    The Great Tower of London rose to the sky like a giant man-at-arms guarding the city, and Heather could not suppress a shudder as she saw it looming in the distance. It was there that she was destined to go, and she could only pray that she would return from there as well.
    Richard Morgan’s words rang in her ears, his warning to her ere they parted. “Do not be caught with the letter upon your person. It could well mean your death if it is discovered.”
    He had tried again to dissuade her from taking the letter to the council, but Heather had been stubborn and his arguments were defeated. Her words had been spirited then, but now as she walked along, shards of fear pricked at her heart.
    “The Tower. The White tower,” she whispered, remembering well the stories she had heard about it in her childhood. Not only was the council there, but many a prisoner as well. Indeed, Sir Thomas more, Anne Boleyn, and the two young sons of Edward IV had languished there before their deaths; Henry VI had been murdered in the Tower, and how many royal corpses lay within the cemetery next to the Tower? Was it any wonder that she felt apprehensive just looking in that direction? That Northumberland, his family, and his supporters were housed in the Tower only added to her peril.
    It was a bold plan that she had devised, one without disguise or need for arms. She would  merely go to the Tower as herself, the merchant’s daughter.
    Heather had attired herself in one of her better gowns for the journey, for it would not do to look the pauper. Her cornflower-blue dress with bell-shaped sleeves was a copy of those worn by ladies of the court, the full skirt worn over the stiff Spanish farthingale, so in vogue. Over the gown was worn a partlet, a yoke with a V neck and standing collar, tied under the armpits with tape. The full high collar of her chemise peeked from beneath. She thought with a smile that she rather resembled a walking dinner bell.
    Reaching up, she touched her hair to make certain that it was still tidy. Parted in the center and rolled back over a pad, the red tresses were covered by a French hood secured with ribbons tied under her chin. She was well pleased with her efforts and laughed as two young apprentices nearly collided with each other while looking in her direction.
    Walking down the cobbled streets, that twisting and turning path through the city, Heather looked up at the tall plaster-and-timber “magpie”-styled houses, so like her father’s. The two-and three-story buildings leaned forward and looked as if they could nearly touch their neighbors on the other side of the narrow gray-cobbled street. Her father had wanted to go his neighbors one better, and so his abode had been structured with four stories.
    Ah, Father , she thought. Safe at home napping. At least she would not have to worry about him this day. It had been her fear to suffer his ire upon reaching the council, but apparently he had not been summoned this time.
    Heather passed several cathedrals along the route, boarded up long ago before she was born. The stained glass of the windows was now shattered, replaced by tattered waxed paper. Her mother had often related to