Fire Catcher by C. S. Quinn Read Free Book Online

Louise’s expenditure was particularly resented.
    ‘She ran fast for a chubby girl,’ Barbara observed, her shapely eyebrows furrowed.
    Charles gave a sigh which was mixed with a laugh.
    ‘What do you want, Barbara?’
    She tossed her head coquettishly.
    ‘Why do you imagine I want something?’
    ‘You always want something,’ said Charles evenly. ‘All women do. Money. Jewels. Titles for your children.’
    ‘ Our children,’ said Barbara, anger rising in her voice. She seemed to check herself and her voice softened.
    ‘Perhaps I wanted to see you,’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps I missed you.’
    She put a hand up to his shaved head.
    ‘You cut your hair,’ she said sadly.
    ‘Six years on the throne is all it has taken to turn my hair white.’
    Encouraged, Barbara leaned over and took his long white fingers in hers.
    ‘Do you remember,’ she began, ‘the night we met, where you put these fingers?’
    Charles swallowed. He had forgotten how quickly Barbara’s conversation could turn to seduction. It was one of her most alluring qualities, and had kept her in his bed for so many years, despite a succession of beautiful young women.
    Barbara leaned forward so her face was level with his. Even at twenty-seven, having birthed four of his children, she was so very, very beautiful.
    ‘I was barely sixteen,’ she whispered, moving his hand down. ‘When I met the exiled King. Roaming in Holland with not a penny to his name. I was the only one,’ she breathed, stroking his cheek. ‘The only girl who truly loved you before you were King. You need never doubt me.’
    Her hand had moved to her skirts, and Charles noticed the ring he had bought her was missing. The jewel had been bought at great cost from the Spanish Ambassador. He had heard rumours she’d sold it, but had not believed it until now.
    ‘Tell me why you came back,’ replied Charles, stopping her hand. In addition to seducing half his court, Barbara often hawked his most expensive gifts as revenge for his philandering.
    ‘Why should Lucy Walter’s son have a dukedom?’ Barbara demanded.
    Charles shook his head slowly and sighed. Always it came back to this.
    ‘We have talked of this,’ he said. ‘Monmouth is my eldest son and I have great love for him.’
    Barbara’s wide mouth set hard like stone.
    ‘You don’t help his character,’ she said, ‘with your indulgences.’
    Charles waved a hand. ‘I was a young man once,’ he said. ‘He’ll grow out of the giddiness.’
    ‘You swore you loved me best,’ spat Barbara. ‘You swore it. Is this what the word of a King is worth?’
    Charles spread out his hands. ‘Lucy and I were barely eighteen. She was nothing to me. You can’t be jealous of a fifteen-year-old boy. Our sons have dukedoms too.
    Is this why you came back?’ he asked, his voice softening. ‘To start the old wars again?’
    Barbara tilted her head and smiled a little. It was his favourite expression of hers. The one that reminded him, despite everything she’d done, Barbara loved him in her way.
    ‘I fear for you, Charles,’ she said after a moment. ‘What happened to the young man I met in Holland? Who swore that when he was King, he would right his country’s wrongs?’
    ‘He encountered politics,’ said Charles sadly. ‘What happened to the young girl who waited for me naked, in the upstairs of a Dutch tavern?’
    ‘She had four of your children,’ returned Barbara with a smile. Then she frowned.
    ‘You have heard of the fire?’
    Charles nodded. ‘A bakery by the river. The Mayor says a woman could piss on it.’
    ‘There is a gale blown in to fan the flames,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s still burning on Pudding Lane. And there is a Catholic faction who claim the blaze as their vengeance.’
    Charles shrugged.
    ‘Every day there is a new rebel faction,’ he said. ‘The Protestants hate me for protecting the Catholics. The Catholics hate me for not doing enough. You can’t move in London for men calling