Ormond realized what she intended. He broke into a run. “No, Katherine,” he cried, reaching for her.
Leicester also saw, and from behind, he tried to grip her wrist. But her madness made her move far faster thaneither man, and Katherine darted to the side, away from them all, brandishing the blade.
And the queen screamed. “She has a knife! She thinks to murder me!”
Pandemonium erupted in the antechamber. Elizabeth backed up, instantly surrounded by her Gentlemen, while a dozen soldiers descended upon Katherine. Suddenly Katherine was afraid. Leicester shoved her in the direction whence she had come. “Katherine, flee!”
And Katherine whirled, shoving past Ormond, who made no attempt to stop her—who even blocked the corridor, momentarily deterring any others from pursuing her.
“She is mad!” the queen cried from behind the men guarding her. “The girl has gone mad! Seize her! Seize her!”
Metal shrieked as the soldiers drew their swords and gave chase. Katherine pounded down the corridor, heard loud, racing footsteps and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw that two soldiers were gaining on her—and that one of the two men almost on her heels was none other than her husband, John Hawke.
It flashed through her mind that she was doomed. In another second Hawke or the other soldier would be close enough to grab her, and even if she fought them with her knife, they would ultimately subdue her, they would ultimately win. And she would be sent to Bridewell, where whores were imprisoned—never to be released, never to know her own child.
Katherine waited for the feel of a hand upon her shoulder. But nothing happened.
She glanced back again. And saw John Hawke, an inch from her now. Their gazes seemed to met. And in his eyes she saw a silent message, a message that could not be. And then he mouthed—“run.”
And then John Hawke lunged for Katherine—and tripped and fell. He fell in such a manner that he took down the soldier beside him as well. And as he fell and rolled, he became tangled up with the other soldier, and the two men succeeded in blocking the entire corridor.The three soldiers following them crashed into them and also went flying to the floor.
Katherine ran.
Katherine crouched behind a pile of garbage outside of a timbered warehouse just across the street from St. Leger House. She was on her knees, for she did not have the strength to stand. She clawed the rotten wood in the refuse heap, peering across the street. She was exhausted, so exhausted that her head throbbed painfully and her insides heaved. She had been running through London all afternoon, eluding her pursuers.
Dusk had fallen, for which she was thankful. The sky was pink and gray, and the long shadows hid her well. She licked her dry lips, which were cracked and swollen. She watched the queen’s soldiers, led by John Hawke, as they sat their mounts in the cobbled courtyard of the manor, speaking with her father. She could not hear their exact words, but she knew what was being said. Hawke wanted to know if she was there, and her father was telling him that he had not seen her—truthfully.
Several soldiers dismounted and entered the house. Katherine supposed that they would search the entire manor and the grounds very carefully to see if she were hiding there.
Katherine choked on her despair. She was so tired. She did not think she could last much longer. If a soldier saw her now, she would not be able to run away. She prayed to God for His help.
And then the soldiers returned, mounted, and the dozen or so troops turned around and left St. Leger House. Katherine’s heart began to pound. She watched them riding away, down the street, toward the Tower Bridge. And then Hawke suddenly turned in the saddle and stared back—not at the manor but toward the depot—toward her.
Katherine shrank down, out of sight. Her pulse rioted. But he had not seen her, for he gave no command to his men to turn around and seize her.
Panting, Katherine slowly stood. She swayed a little; the soldiers were no longer in sight. She crossed the streetslowly, pulling up her hood. She saw her father standing in the courtyard still, staring at her as well.
And then Gerald went to the manor’s guards, posted at the gates, and began to speak. The guards listened, and turned, looking toward the east—away from Katherine. Gerald pointed and gestured. Then he shot a brief glance at Katherine, and it was a command. Katherine sucked up her courage and ran through the front gates just as Gerald and the two guards walked toward the back of the house. No one in sight now, she entered the house—and collapsed in the entry hall.
She did not know how long she sat there on the floor, too weak even to move a muscle, but the next thing she knew her father was there with her, crouching beside her. “Katie? Dear God, Katie! What’s happened to you?” He touched her dirty, scratched cheek.
Katherine began to cry, moving into his open arms. He held her and stroked her hair. Hysterically, almost incoherently, she told him what had happened. “What am I to do, Father? I have lost my child! Liam will soon hang! And now it appears my fate is the same, for I tried to kill the queen!”
Gerald helped her to her feet and held her upright. “We must think on this, darling, carefully. But all is not as horrific as it appears. I do not think your cause is lost.”
And hope sparked in Katherine’s breast. She should have known to come to her father. He had always been a hero, a man capable of moving mountains, and even his exile could not change that. She gripped the lapels of his faded, much-mended doublet. “What do you say, Father? What do you mean?”
Gerald smiled at her. “Clearly you have not heard the latest news.”
“What news?” she whispered dryly.
“Your lover is no longer in the Tower, Katie. Two days ago, Liam O’Neill escaped. And theSea Daggerwas spotted off the Essex coast, sailing north, toward Ireland.” Gerald smiled at her. “The Master of the Seas is free, Katie. Liam O’Neill is free.”
And finally, Katherine swooned.
IV
THEPRIZE
