Part 19
Serena van der Woodsen was a madwoman, she was.
Chuck Bass watched in awe as Walsingham's ward—a spy of the crown—burst towards the guard with a cry. "Lord Warwick!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with terror and remorse. "My lord Chuck, what have they done to you?" Serena ran past the stunned guards who for a moment were struck in awe at the golden beauty that launched herself at his feet. Serena rose and with gloved hands she grasped at his face. "You are cut and bruised." She glared at the guards around him. "Have you hurt the earl of Warwick? Have you?" she demanded. "You are not fit to be in his presence, let alone touch a hair on his head!"
Chuck saw the man standing yards away at the side of the ship, watching silently in his black hooded cape. His face was hidden by the drawn hood, but he knew from the stance that it was none other than Lady Rose's most trusted—the man who had been tasked with the noble task of retrieving his Blair.
The man nodded imperceptibly at him. Chuck turned to Serena and saw her then beat her fists at one of the guards.
"When he reaches England, you shall see!" she warned.
And then, with all her might, Serena van der Woodsen threw around him an unwelcome embrace. Chuck stiffened with her arms around him, for he had not forgotten the careless mission that had endangered his wife. With his wrists bound at his back, Chuck need not pretend a returning embrace. Instead he listened, for he knew well enough that she and Carter Baizen had concocted a plan.
Despite his distrust, any plan would do. He had promised his wife, and he would fulfill it to the very last. He could not bear to part.
"Two guards—we are prepared for more," she bit out within his earshot. "I shall distract these eyes, and you must stumble towards Baizen at the back." And then, louder, her pitch higher, she exclaimed as she raised the fur-trimmed hood of the cloak over his head, "I cannot look at your wounds, my lord. What horror. Que barbaridad!" she said loudly.
Chuck lowered his head, hiding his face from view. When Serena launched herself towards the guards and maneuvered back so that they would turn to follow her, he slid towards the hidden crevice of the dock, right by the ship, and staggered towards Baizen. He turned his back and thrust his bound arms towards the man.
Carter's fingers were quick and adept as they worked through the rope. "She has been taken to court, and they shall leave post haste," the spy told him. "Isabella's soldiers shall escort her in the travel to France. Every one of those men know who you are, and you must stay away."
"Not away," Chuck argued.
"Patience, my lord," Carter cautioned him. "The princess has the face of an angel, but she does not mince her words. These men shall dispatch of your wife as quickly as they would yourself if they discover that Lady Blair has broken her word. Take my cape." When Chuck's hands were freed, he worked to remove his cloak. "I need passage to London to free Serena from Lord Walsingham," Carter said. "Let me take your place."
"And I take yours," Chuck agreed, handing Isabella's fur cloak and covering himself in the black cape that Carter had worn since England.
"I abandon my mission to you. I trust you shall keep her, and ensure she reaches her mother alive and well."
Chuck grasped Carter's shoulder and turned him around, then bound his wrists together with the rope. He drew the fur hood down, then took Carter by his elbow and dragged him towards the light. Serena looked up and eyed the two. She rushed to Carter's side and clutched his arm.
For good measure, Chuck pushed Carter towards Serena and Isabella's guards. "Come, my lord. We must away from these wretched Spaniards." Towards Chuck, she threw silently, "I beg pardon, my lord."
Chuck did not speak, merely nodded. His heart raced. It was going to work. The asinine plan that the two had dreamed up was going to work. Isabella's guards created a barricade of their bodies between him and Carter Baizen. Serena led Carter up the ramp, towards the ship.
Chuck remained on land, and looked up at the large looming merchant ship. He watched in the refuge of the thick black cape and saw the two figures emerge aboard. He did not move from his place, and neither did they. The ship pushed away from the port and even then Serena and Carter stood stationary. Serena raised a hand in farewell, and when they were far enough away, Chuck raised his hand as well.
He took a deep breath of the cold, sea air.
"Sir, your horse," he heard from behind him. Chuck turned and saw a proud charger horse brought to him, saddled and shoed for long travel, strapped with a satchel packed with supplies. "For your trip to Paris, sir," the young man clarified. Chuck licked his lips. He inserted his hand into the inner pocket of the cape and felt the cold hard coins within. He handed one to the boy. "Gracias," he muttered.
"De nada, senor." And then, "Vaya con Dios."
Chuck nodded, and took the reins for the horse in his hands. He tentatively placed a foot on the rest and half-expected Philip's men to jump on him. Nobody came. Chuck jumped onto the saddle and looked down and around him. He kept the hood in place, then urged the horse to turn around and on the road back to the court.
In court, Blair curtsied deeply in front of the man who has once been most powerful in the world. She held the bow deep and steady, and fear and awe threaded in his veins. King Philip had once been England's sovereign, she knew, in the time of Queen Mary. Once upon that time blood ran through the streets and the rivers as Philip sought to reawaken the religion of their ancestors.
Many of Harold Waldorf's forefathers perished in that persecution, that hunt.
Isabella would think twice before lashing her, but Philip need not have reservations. They had no common blood, no true connection. He could order her killed and she had no plans of dying, no peaceful acceptance prepared. No. She had discovered a love to live for, and she would survive until she found it again. Philip's deep voice commanded she rise, and rise she did.
He motioned her over with his hand. Blair nodded and walked forward to her cousin's father. Philip raised the dark opal rosary in his hand. Blair eyed the golden cross that hung from it. She cupped it with gloved hands and kissed it.
"You worship my God," Philip told her.
"I worship God," Blair answered.
"And you adore the English whore?" he asked in spite.
"I adore my queen, majesty," Blair answered, emotionless, instantly, dispassionately. She wondered now if it was still true, because her heart did not leap the way it did before at the mention of Elizabeth.
"The only woman that you must adore is the Blessed Virgin," he reminded her. Philip bent forward, and Blair froze when the king tipped her chin up and turned her face from one side to the other. He grunted and Blair wondered if it was in pleasure or displeasure. "You have the look of my dead wife, Isabella's mother, God rest her soul."
And at that, Blair felt the tension release from her shoulders. Her lips curved, only a little, lest he take offense at the relief she had at the mention of his dead wife.
"She was pure and innocent—what wonderful woman," he recollected. Philip eyed Blair in sorrow. "She was bred and raised in the church. What horror I feel when I look upon you."
"Father!" Isabella exclaimed at his side.
"You have her blood, her body, her face—yet raised in England without the guidance of the one true church, Lady Blair, you have become tainted." Blair's eyes narrowed. She stepped backwards out of the king's reach. "I have been told you are Warwick's wife. How unfortunate."
Her lips thinned. "I am proud to be Chuck Bass' wife."
"A misfortune," Philip told her. "You could have been so much more."
She had held her tongue too long now, she thought. "Your majesty, my marriage is none of your concern."
"You have been raised by barbarians—Waldorf and Northumberland. They did not open your eyes to the promise of your future." The king rose from his throne and assessed her, and Blair shuddered at the inspection. It was the first that she had felt like a chattel. "You could be a queen in your own right, Lady Blair. You have the blood of the Medici. You have same blood that courses through the kings of France these past generations. You have the blood of Isabella. You have the blood of the Austrian kings." His voice dropped. "Of emperors, Lady Blair."
Her hand rested on her belly, heartbreakingly empty as the morning brought his departure and her menses. She had not known how fervently she wished to keep part of him with her until she bled and found that he had not had the chance to take root in her womb.
"And my children, majesty, will have the same blood, as well as the blood of the Kingmakers of England." She licked her lips. "You know the brains, the power, the wealth behind the English throne had long been the earls of Warwick."
Philip rubbed his chin, mulling over her words. He turned to Isabella, then said, "She has your brains, hija—the same intelligence behind your eyes, the same pride." He turned back to Blair, then offered, "I can negotiate a fine alliance for you."
"An alliance."
"You are far too fine to be wasted on an Englishman," Philip answered. "There are Florentine princes who shall happily take you, and my treasury has a thirst for Italian gold."
"You cannot barter me. I am wed."
"And the church can easily consider your marriage null."
"My marriage is consummated, your majesty," Blair said.
"There are ways to deny it," Philip answered. "It takes a few tears, Lady Blair, which I am certain you can manage. It takes a dagger and a tiny prick of your finger. A few drops of your marriage bed, and you become a virgin bride."
Blair closed her eyes, remembered the way that Chuck had wiped off with his torn shirt the bloodstains and the seed from the tender skin of her thighs.
"I will kill myself before another man uses me," she threatened, a stark lie, but an effective one nonetheless. King Philip, in his fear of the church, would not dare her hand to commit the unpardonable sin.
Isabella's hand rested on her arm. "Cousin," she said gently, "fear not. Forgive the king. We shall not press you. We shall send you to your mother, as I promised."
Blair opened her eyes reluctantly, then eyed the king. Philip nodded, then informed her, "Off to France, if you wish. But Isabella shall write to your mother and Catarina. If you shall be married, I reserve the right to negotiate the contract." The king motioned to the guard, and Blair heard the presence behind her. "I shall give you a companion who has proven her worth to the kingdom."
Blair turned around and saw the loathsome sight. It was Jenny Humphrey, unafraid, cold in her regard.
"This girl?"
"She will serve you," Isabella informed her. "Jenny has given us privileged information that allowed us to save you."
"She will serve no one but herself."
"Your mother has entrusted your return to Jenny," Isabella told her. "We shall allow her to complete her mission."
Blair shook her head, then strode past Jenny and outside. Jenny followed behind her. "Blair," she called. "Lady Blair!" Blair did not turn around. In a thin, desperate cry, she burst, "They shall kill me if I stay. I have no use, and I am not of noble blood!"
"They will not kill you," Blair snapped.
"They shall put me to work in the kitchens!" Jenny cried out. "It is worse than death."
Blair's eyes widened at the girl in disbelief. "Working in the kitchens is a noble occupation, Jenny!"
"So says the woman who has not worked a day in her life," Jenny argued. "You have everything, Lady Blair. Since you were a child, you had it all!"
"Kitchen work is far better than the fate you would have handed Chuck, or myself," Blair spat. "I would rather travel to France myself than have you."
Jenny shook her head. She clutched Blair's arm. Isabella made her way outside and found them. She motioned to the guards the moment that Jenny touched Blair. "I have seen the paintings on Lady Rose's walls, tasted the food from King Henri's banquets. I was not meant to be a servant," Jenny said. She pleaded, "You cannot know what it is to desire something so fervently you cannot breathe without it!"
Blair held up a hand to stay Isabella's men. She looked at the girl before her, the rabid girl with such rabid desires. She remembered the blind way she had pursued her desire to serve Queen Elizabeth, and now the sinking depression that settled over her with each breath without her husband. She swallowed, then turned to Isabella and wrapped her arms around the princess.
Blair walked towards the carriage prepared for her and entered. Jenny climbed aboard as well.
Blair drew her gown away. "You are not allowed to brush against me, or my gown," she told Jenny coldly. "If you do, I shall abandon you on the side of the road."
Jenny bit her lip, then looked out her window. Blair pushed her curtain towards Jenny, blocking her view. Blair assessed the gathered soldiers outside, their horses surrounding the carriage, serving as her escort in her travel across the Spanish countryside. They were pomp and regal, and such a wonderfully colorful prison they gave her.
There was a rider several yards from them, astride a horse, in a billowing black cape.
Jenny gasped in fear. "It is Carter Baizen. He has come to punish me for what I have done."
Blair's fingers curled as she grasped the curtain. She was enraptured by the proud way the man sat. When they rolled forward, the hooded man followed behind—far enough that the guards did not flag him, yet close enough that they never lost him.
The days came and went, and the journey had become a ritual of food and sitting within the carriage. In the night they stopped at the inns littered at the side of the road, and at daybreak they rose and began another day.
It was one of those days, a day before they reached the border, that it happened. Blair and her party arrived at the rest stop late in the night. Down below, the Spanish guards played cards, exchanging ruckus laughter as they swapped tales. Blair made her way up the stairs, carrying a lamp as she entered her room.
She then found herself pressed back against the wall. Blair struggled, then felt the warm lips over hers. She drowned in the familiar kiss. Her heart skipped a beat. One hand rose to hold onto his nape. She met his eyes in the flickering light.
"My lord," she breathed.
He smiled. Immediately hot tears flooded her eyes. "Not a moment longer," he said to her, a reminder of his vow. "We shall not be apart a moment longer."
"How?"
His answer was a tender kiss upon her brow. She raised the lamp up between them and he blew the light out. He took the lamp from her hand and placed it down by their feet. Then, in a way he had not done before, Chuck carried her up in his arms. Blair did not wait. While he walked towards the freshly made bed she pressed kisses on his jaw and undid the ribbon of the black cape. It fell heavily down and caught between them. He laid her down on the clean bed and the black cape covered his lower body as he moved over her.
Their mouths locked in passion while his fingers worked to free her from her clothing. Blair pushed his shirt off his body and licked at the healed wounds, at the little scars left on his chest.
Chuck threw the black cape off and it fell to the floor. He knelt above her, and she sat up on the bed and pushed his trousers down his hips. His manhood sprang free and stood in attention, right by her face. Blair looked up at his face, then grasped it with both hands.
"You have missed me, my lord."
His fingers buried in her wet slit, and she gasped. He responded, "As much as you missed me, countess." Her hip bucked up.
She turned her head and kissed his stiff member. Chuck's free hand held her by her throat as her mouth worked over him. She was spurred on by the gasps and the breathy grunts he produced as she slowly licked at the tip. Her throat worked, and she felt his hand cup her jaw. Blair opened her mouth and slowly drew him inside. When he hit the back of her throat, she gagged and he pulled out of her at once. She flushed. He gave her a smile, then kissed her slack mouth.
"Next time," he told her. "Next time when we have all the time in the world." She nodded. "Now I need you. It has been too long."
So Blair clung to his neck and settled back on the bed, with his body following close and resting over her. "On a bed, Chuck. For the first time."
He settled over her parted legs. She raised her legs and rested them over his hips and without hesitation, he entered her. Blair's breath released, and his forehead fell onto her collarbone. She was wet, unexpectedly. She wanted him, and he rejoiced at the knowledge that she had not forgotten the pleasure that was his embrace. "So tight, my love."
She moved underneath him, and she was heaven and hell inside. "It has been so long," she sobbed.
He was grateful for the clean sheets. He did not dare close his eyes though the pleasure drew his eyelids heavy. It was such rare pleasure, such event, such fantasy to have her, that he could not miss a second of it. He was pushing inside her, edging her closer and closer to satisfaction. Blair held tight to him and he felt her quickly impending spasms as she burst in his arms. She grew slicker, tighter, more erratic underneath and around him. When she squeezed the life from him, Chuck drove inside her several times and spilled himself into her waiting body.
He fell on top of her, and he moved to take his weight off her form, but her legs tightened around him and her arms grasped his slippery shoulders. "Stay," she pleaded. "Take root inside me."
Chuck raised his head, gasping for breath. He met her sleepy eyes. "Did I hear you right?"
She nodded and yawned, holding tight to him. "Plant your seed deep in my womb, Chuck. I want a child. I want your mark on me," she told him. "I want to be yours. I want this--" She raised head from the bed, and found his lips. "I want us irreversible."
And so there they stayed, as he fell asleep atop her, half-inside her still, their fluids mixed together, drying on their skin in the cool night air. He woke in the night and looked at her as she slept. His hand crept between them and he placed a hand between them, over her womb, praying he would take root inside because it was what she wanted, then praying for an epiphany on a way back home.
Morning, and it was Jenny Humphrey's voice that drew them out of their sleep. Reluctantly they disentangled their limbs. Blair raised herself on her elbow and drew heavy legs under her hips. Naked, in the light of day, she was a perfect portrait. He crawled towards her on the bed and kissed a nipple, then he slowly drew it into his mouth. She closed her hand over his wrist and drew his hand down to her belly.
"Do you think your heir lies asleep inside of me now?"
His breathing was heavy, and he wondered at the overwhelming feeling that washed over him. He closed his mouth over hers in a kiss. "I love you," he declared.
The knock grew louder. "A moment, if you please!" she called out. Blair turned back to Chuck and held her face in both of her hands. She drew him close and kissed him back. "I love you. Only you." Blair nodded towards the discarded cape. "Now go. Tomorrow, Isabella's guards shall fall away when we cross the border to France."
"And then it shall be Catarina's men."
"None of whom know who you are," Blair declared. She helped him with his clothing, and flung Carter's cape around his shoulders. "Come to my room. Meet me at the inn. Run into me, by chance, at a town. I want to see you out in the sun."
He drew her hand to his lips. "Anything you want, countess."
Blair nodded, then drew a robe and pulled it over her body. She opened the door and eyed Jenny. "I shall make my way to dine. Go." She closed the door.
tbc