Jest shut the door beneath the bridge and followed her up to the path. She felt the tender brush of his fingertips against her lower back and the caress warmed her to her bones.
She smiled back at him and saw her contentment reflected in his face. It only took the gentlest of tugs before she was in his arms again.
No sooner had their lips touched than a warning caw darted down Catherine’s spine. She gasped and swivelled her head, spotting Raven in the trees.
Jest grabbed her elbow. ‘Cath—’
The night’s tranquillity erupted with the sound of clanging armour and shouted commands.
Catherine cried out as Jest’s hand was ripped away from her, leaving her skin burning. She turned in time to see the Two and Seven of Clubs forcing Jest on to his knees. A suit of palace guards spread out behind them, their clubs and javelins raised.
‘What are you doing?’ she screamed, wrapping her hands around Jest’s upper arm. The guards held firm. ‘Let him go!’
‘Catherine! Oh, thanks to goodness!’
She spun around. Her mother and father barrelled out from behind a border of shrubs. The King, too, was there, and the sight of him made Cath’s veins run cold moments before her mother wrapped her in a suffocating embrace. ‘Oh, my sweet girl! My darling child! You’re home! You’re safe!’
‘Of course I’m safe. What is the meaning of this?’
‘You needn’t be frightened any more.’ The Marchioness stroked her hair. ‘We heard all about the Jabberwock attack – much as I adore His Majesty I may never forgive his putting you in harm’s way like that!’ She said this with an element of cheekiness, knowing His Majesty was standing not far away and, of course, he was already forgiven. ‘They said you were injured and . . . and this wicked joker had taken you to the Sturgeons! We went there, your father and Mary Ann and I, but you were nowhere to be seen and no one had heard from you and the Sturgeons said you hadn’t been to see them and all I could think was that you were helpless and afraid and hurt and this awful man had secreted you away and was doing something vile and awful and—’
She was sobbing, great big blubbering sobs that turned Cath’s stomach with guilt.
A loud honk drew her attention over her mother’s shoulder. Her father was blowing his nose into a handkerchief, his eyes red and sleepless.
She spotted Mary Ann and Abigail, too, loitering near the tree line. Both were pale and wide-eyed. Mary Ann looked relieved, her hands pressed against her stomach.
‘Did he . . .’ Her mother swallowed, hard. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘What? No!’ Cath shook her head as her mother’s words pieced together. She disentangled herself from her mother’s embrace. ‘He didn’t . . . it was nothing like that. This is all a misunderstanding.’ She spun back to the guards. ‘Let him go. He hasn’t done anything!’
‘It’s all right now,’ said her father, stepping forward to brush back a strand of Cath’s hair. ‘He’s captured. You don’t have to be afraid. His Majesty has ensured us this will never happen again.’
Aghast, Catherine peered down at Jest. His lips were pressed thin, the only sign of emotion on his face. All signs of their previous euphoria were gone. His gaze, now cunning and sly, was darting from the King to the guards to Raven, perched somewhere overhead. He wasn’t looking at her.
Nor was he looking particularly innocent.
Cath frowned and planted her hands on her hips. ‘You’re all overreacting. Jest was helping me. He took me . . .’ She hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘He took me to the treacle well. He knew where it was, and look! My leg is healed!’ She lifted the hem of her dress.
‘Catherine!’ Her mother slapped her hand down and the hem fell, but not before Mary Ann’s hand had flown to her mouth. She had seen the damage at the theatre. She knew the miracle of it.
Cath dared to turn her focus on the King. Her suitor. She gulped, but guilt over her mussed hair and swollen lips was barely a gnat pestering at the back of her thoughts. ‘Your Majesty, please. You can’t arrest him. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’
The King ducked his chin between the folds of his cloak. The crown started to slip on his head.
‘Nothing wrong!’ her mother barked, fluttering her arms. ‘He kidnapped you! Twice!’
Catherine’s breath snagged.
‘I can’t imagine what spell this man has on you,’ her mother continued, ‘but to steal you away . . . once, directly from beneath the nose of your betrothed—’
He’s not my betrothed.
‘And even from our own house, your own chambers!’ She wailed. She was crying again. Catherine’s father scooped her into his arms, but she pushed him away, turning her wrath on Jest, who was still on his knees, held firm by the guards. ‘You wretch! You villain! How dare you!’
Jest held her gaze, his jaw twitching, his expression unreadable.
‘Mama, stop it!’ Catherine clung to her arm. ‘It isn’t like that. He’s . . . He . . .’
Her thoughts skidded to a stop.
Her parents knew. They knew he’d come to her chambers. They knew they’d sneaked away in the middle of the night.
Her eyes drifted back to Mary Ann, chest aching with betrayal.
Mary Ann stared back, her eyes watering and hands clasped. I’m sorry, she mouthed.
‘We were expecting a demand for ransom,’ her father said, his voice gruff. ‘We didn’t know if we would ever see you again.’