My Lady Jane(94)

Gracie nodded toward a corner on the far side of the street where a man disappeared behind a butcher shop. Then to the rooftop of an apothecary. The streets were eerily empty for this time of day. “They know we’re here. Maybe they haven’t done anything yet, but they know.”

Jane petted Gifford’s soft cheek. He blew out a breath and dropped his chin on her shoulder, pulling her into what might have been a horse version of a hug. She put her arms around his neck for a moment and breathed in the warm scent of his fur.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered by his ear. “They won’t recognize me. But if anything bad happens, you have my permission to kick down the door.” She rubbed his forehead before hurrying after the others into the tavern.

“I’m here to speak with Thomas Archer,” Edward called as the door swung shut behind them.

There were seven people in the taproom—five drinking at tables, one working at the bar, and one in deep conversation with the bartender—and all of them stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Edward.

“Who are you?” asked the bartender.

“I’m the King of England,” Edward announced. “And I want to speak to Thomas Archer.”

One of the drinkers laughed. “The king is dead. So is the new queen. The new new queen sits on the throne now. Mary.”

“She is not the rightful queen,” Jane objected.

Bess bumped Jane’s arm in warning. Then, subtly, she nodded toward Gracie, whose gaze was fixed on the man sitting at the bar. The Scot’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

No question about it: that man was Archer.

His back was turned to them, but there was enough to reveal him as a young man. His form was slender and straight. Strands of black hair curled over his collar.

“He is the king,” Gracie said to him alone. “He’s telling the truth.”

Slowly, the young man at the bar turned around. He had a striking face, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. He looked Gracie up and down. “So, the little fox returns. With a king, no less. You’re looking fine, Gracie. Did you miss me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Aw, now.” Archer grinned and pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, lass. Do it again.”

Edward reddened and strode up to the bar, pulling out a handful of coins, which he slapped down in front of Archer. “Ten sovereigns. To pay off the bounty on her head.”

Archer looked from Edward to the coins, and back. “Bounty? Is that what she told you?”

Edward pushed the coins toward Archer. “And now with that matter out of the way, I wish to recruit you to my cause.”

Archer remained sitting. “And what cause is that?”

“I want to get my kingdom back.”

Another drinker laughed. “Mary has an army, from what I hear. You have a fox, a grand lady”— he nodded respectfully at Bess—“and a redhead.”

“Hey, Jane’s hair isn’t that bad.” Edward ceased the truly inspiring defense of her hair and composed himself. “What I mean to say is, I intend to take back the throne, and as citizens of England, the Pack should be with me.”

Archer scoffed. “What has England done for us?”

“You’re E?ians,” Edward said.

“Guilty as charged. But I don’t see why that means we need to side with you, boy king.”

“Mary is Verity, through and through. Even now she is hunting down E?ians with the intent of purging them from England.”

“I know,” said Archer grimly. “Haven’t you heard that the royal servants have already been interrogated, and anyone thought to be an E?ian has been jailed? They’ll be burned in less than a fortnight, I hear.” He took a deep drink from his mug of ale. “But we E?ians have survived hundreds of years of persecution. What does it matter to us if the reigning monarch is E?ian or Verity?”

Bess stepped forward. Everyone looked to her—there was just something about Bess that commanded a room. “Freedom,” she said to answer his question. “Real freedom, Mister Archer. You’ll be equals to Verities. No longer persecuted.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but King Henry made the same promise when he transformed into a lion, and that didn’t change much for us.” Archer shook his head. “Be king or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.”

This wasn’t going well.

“But I am your king!” Edward said. He was saying that a lot lately. Too much.

“Nope,” said Archer. “But if you leave now, I might let you walk out of here with your lives. Because I’m feeling generous today.”

Like we mentioned earlier, there were seven people in the tavern, and now six of them had some sort of weapon drawn.

The members of Edward’s party exchanged anxious glances. Well, they’d tried and failed. Gracie had been right: there was no reasoning with Archer. Perhaps they’d just have to consider it a victory if they got out of there alive.

Edward sighed. “All right. Come on.”

He turned to go.

Jane stepped forward. “Wait. You’ll join us,” she said to Archer. “And it will be for one very simple reason.”

Everyone was looking at her now.

“Times are hard.” Jane hid her trembling hands behind her back and moved to stand before Archer. “You’re a powerful band, but that doesn’t make you immune to the world’s problems. The Pack is being hunted. You say you’re not concerned about the mass burnings Mary has scheduled for the E?ians, but I heard your voice catch when you talked about it. Likely some of those palace servants work for you, and you know there’s nothing that you can do to help them. But Edward could help them. He could stop the huntings. The burnings. The endless circle of killing and being killed. If you align yourself with the king, it will benefit the entire Pack. Are you so full of pride that you don’t see that?”