The Tudor Conspiracy Page 3

  “You are not a creature.” I heard her skirts rustle as she stood. I felt her hand on my shoulder. Desolation filled me.

  “I do not ask you to live with this,” I whispered. “It is too great a burden, I know. The children we might have together … they will never be able to claim a family from me. Even my name is a lie. It means nothing.”

  “Let me decide what I can and cannot bear. Brendan, look at me.” I turned about to face her. “Never let me hear you say that again,” she said. “You are the man I have chosen to spend my life with. You are strong, good, and honest. You are all a child needs in a father.”

  Tears burned in my eyes. I drew her close, and as I held her against me and breathed in her lavender scent, desire for her overwhelmed me. I longed to ravel my hands in her hair, uncoil it from the net at her nape to let it flow like dark honey over her naked shoulders. I longed to strip her of her clothes, to see her arch beneath me with breathless abandon, taking me deep inside her. I wanted none of the sordid intrigues and terrors of my past or the court to ever touch her again.

  “I love you, Kate Stafford,” I said. “I love you with all my heart. I only want to be yours, forever. If you ever find reason to doubt me, remember that.”

  She kissed me. “And I love you, Brendan Prescott, even if you hide too much.”

  * * *

  After supper, Cecil and I retired to sit together before the fire.

  Nursing a goblet of hot cider, his pale eyes turned strangely opaque in the flickering interplay of light and shadow, he said, “Will you do as I ask?”

  In response, I extended the sheaf of reports, rebound with the cord.

  “No questions?” he asked, with a hint of surprise.

  “There isn’t much to ask, is there? The bulk of those reports details events at court, as you said. They might be entries from the ledger of any master of ceremonies or clerk; there’s nothing to question, at least not visibly. However, there is one thing I noticed besides the secret warnings.” I took a moment, watching him. He was fully capable of omitting important details. He had done it before. I didn’t want to consider that he might be engaged in one of his double ploys, not in this case, but my suspicion of him could not be quelled so easily. I had to be certain.

  “Go ahead.” He took a sip from his goblet. “I can see the doubt on your face. You’ll have to master that trait. At court, everyone is an expert at reading others.”

  “Edward Courtenay,” I said, “Earl of Devon. Your informant mentions him several times, in association with the princess. Why?”

  Cecil smiled. “You are indeed a born intelligencer.”

  “It’s hardly proof of my skill. Anyone who read those reports would ask the same. So, who is he?”

  “A last survivor of the royal Plantagenet bloodline. Old King Henry—who could smell a foe at a hundred paces—imprisoned Courtenay as a boy in the Tower. He also beheaded Courtenay’s father. Henry proclaimed it was because of the family’s refusal to accept him as head of the church, but in truth he feared Courtenay’s claim to the throne. One of Mary’s first official acts as queen was to order Courtenay’s release. She also gave him a title. In fact, she’s shown him significant favor.”

  “Does that make him ally or threat?”

  Cecil’s brow lifted. “Denied so long his royal privileges, or what he believes are his privileges, I should think that royal favor or no, our earl must nurse plans of his own. Indeed, if rumor is to be believed, he was offered as a possible spouse for Mary, but she rejected him due to his inexperience and youth.”

  “Are you saying that he could be plotting against the Hapsburg marriage?”

  “I’m saying he is one of the mysteries you need to investigate.” Cecil’s voice darkened. It was the first time he had let his frustration openly show that he was so removed from the undercurrents at court. Times past, he’d have put two or three agents on Courtenay’s trail, to report on his every move. “If Courtenay is plotting, it will not be overt. Remember, Mary has yet to make official announcement of her intent to marry. Whatever Courtenay intends, he’s planning it in secret.”

  “But Renard must be watching him.” I had started to recline in my chair when I saw Cecil’s hand tighten about his goblet. The movement was fleet, almost indiscernible, but the moment I gleaned it, I understood. “God,” I breathed. “You’re still testing me. You’re sending me to court because you fear Renard’s suspicions about Elizabeth could be true.”

  He let out a terse sigh. “The possibility has crossed my mind. I hope I’m wrong. In fact, I pray for it. But the fact that Elizabeth’s name is linked to Courtenay is not an auspicious sign. Of course, it could mean nothing. Their friendship could be the natural outcome of two persons of import who have found themselves thrown into court together. They’re not too far apart in age. He’s twenty-six, six years older than she. It could all be perfectly innocent.”

  “Or it could not be,” I countered. I hesitated, regarding him. Sometimes I forgot that few of us knew Elizabeth as well as we supposed. It was part of her charm; she could make anyone feel like her intimate, when in fact she hid her true nature in enigma. “Do you actually believe she’s capable of plotting against her own sister?” I asked cautiously.

  He gave a dry chuckle. “When it comes to Mary and Elizabeth, nothing would surprise me less. You’d be hard-pressed to find two women more disparate, let alone two who are sisters. I fear they’re fated to become mortal enemies. Battle lines are being drawn even as we speak, with Mary on the one side, determined to wrest the realm from heresy and bind us to a foreign power, while Elizabeth is on the other as her heir, the last hope for an independent land beholden to the Protestant faith. Which one shall win?”

  His voice quickened, imbued with urgency. “If Elizabeth is involved in Courtenay’s plot, she must be stopped before it is too late. Like her, I’ve no wish for us to fall prey to Spain and the Inquisition, but unlike her, I’ve lost the impetuosity of youth. Elizabeth fails to realize that Mary nears her fortieth year. Even if Prince Philip manages to get her with child, she may never carry it to term. Without an heir of Mary’s body, Elizabeth can be queen. We can guide her to her destiny—you and I. But first, we must keep her alive.”

  The echo of his words faded, until the crackling of the flames in the hearth was clearly heard. I stared into the fire, weighing his concerns in my mind.

  I said quietly, “I will do it, then. I will go to court.”

  His entire posture sagged. All of a sudden, he revealed the profound weariness lurking behind his imperturbable facade, the insidious toll that years of toil in the arena of power, extracting bribes and favors, instigating plots and schemes, had taken on his spirit.

  “Thank you,” he said. “On the day she takes the throne, may it be sooner rather than later, God willing, I promise you’ll be well compensated for your service.”

  I stood. “Don’t promise anything quite yet. I said I’d go to court to help her, but I go on my terms. Understood? I’ll brook no interference, no matter what course I take. If you have any men in London you’re thinking of putting on my tail, warn them off now. If you don’t, if I find out you’re misleading me in any way, you will regret it.”

  His mouth twitched. “I believe we understand each other.” He reached into the satchel by his chair and took out a small leather purse. “For your expenses.”

  “I do this for the princess. I don’t need payment from you.”

  He set the purse on my chair. “Consider it a loan, then.” He came to his feet. I took satisfaction in it. I finally had gotten the upper hand when it came to William Cecil.

  As he started to leave, I said, “What of this informant? Should I try to find him?”

  “Absolutely not. If he wants to be found, he’ll let us know.”

  * * *

  It snowed in the next days—a light dusting that dissipated by the afternoon yet left a new and profound chill in the air. We were occupied from dawn till dusk, readying the animals and
fields for the onslaught of winter, finishing the stocking of the larders and cellars, pruning the last of the fruit trees, and covering herb patches and other delicate plants to shelter them from the night’s frost.

  I sent word to Cecil and received his instructions in return. While I prepared, Kate and I did our best to not compound our impending separation. She set herself to purchasing cloth and making me the court doublets and shirts I required, sewing by the fire at night while I pored over Cecil’s transcription of the warnings in the reports, seeking some other clue I might have missed. The heaviness between us thickened, so that even Mistress Ashley finally made comment of it on the morning of my departure as I packed my belongings.

  The plump matron who’d overseen Elizabeth’s household for years had become a stalwart presence in my life as well. Energetic and devoted to the princess’s welfare, Kate Ashley had boundless optimism and an ability to make everyone around her feel at ease. I knew she’d not taken it well when Elizabeth refused to let her accompany her to London; they had quarreled, as was their wont, with Ash Kat, as Elizabeth dubbed her, wringing her hands as she watched the princess ride away.

  “No good can come of it,” she had said at the time. “She and that sister of hers should never be in the same city, much less under the same roof. I told her to stay put, feign an illness, but would she listen to me? No. There she goes, into the very jaws of the wolf.”

  Now Mistress Ashley bustled into my chamber to declare, “You’re going to bring her home, yes? No shenanigans this time, no sneaking into forbidden rooms or jumping off leads into the Thames? You’re going to pack her up and bring her here, where she belongs.”

  Clearly Kate had been confiding in her over the kitchen table at night, after I’d retired. “That would be the goal—if she’ll let me,” I added, with a rueful smile.

  Kat Ashley snorted. “I warned you, serving her is no banquet. She demands more than she ever gives and rarely shows any gratitude. I hope you’re prepared. The only thing she hates more than being told what to do is being told what she should not do.”

  “I’m aware of that.” I latched my bag, then lifted it to test its weight. Cecil’s loan had allowed me two new doublets, several changes of hose, and shoes suitable for court, all of which were heavy. I didn’t want my horse Cinnabar to be overburdened. It would take a full day’s ride to reach London, maybe more if the weather worsened.

  Mistress Ashley reached into her apron pocket and took out an oil-paper bundle tied with twine. “For the road,” she said. I accepted it in gratitude, knowing there’d be a chunk of fresh-dried venison, good cheese, and fresh-baked bread. Then she pressed another pouch into my palm, this one unmistakably filled with coin. “I’ve been saving for a day like this. A smaller cut of meat here, some extra butter sold there—it all adds up.”

  I started to protest that I had money left over from Cecil, but she held up a hand. “I insist. You cannot go to court like a pauper, not if you hope to impress the queen.” Her keen eyes met mine. “The girl is beside herself,” she said. I went still. “She won’t say anything because you are doing your duty, but she fears you, too, are going into the mouth of danger.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “But no one at court knows much about Daniel Beecham.” As I spoke aloud the name of my alias, I touched my chin. I’d let my red-gold beard grow out as thick as I could, trimming it to the shape of my jaw, with a fashionable jutting prong at my chin. Between the beard and my long hair I hardly recognized myself. Would it be enough? Could I return to court and not give myself away as that callow squire who’d turned Northumberland’s plans upside down?

  “You could be any man,” said Mistress Ashley, as if she read my thoughts. She took my face between her hands. “Kate needs you. Though she stays behind, her heart goes with you. All our hearts do. All we want is for you and Her Grace to return to us, safe and sound.”

  A lump clogged my throat. “You’re not making this any easier,” I muttered.

  “I don’t intend to.” She patted my cheek. I embraced her, losing myself for a moment in her crisp scent of herbs and linseed oil and all the uncomplicated good things in life.

  “There now,” she muttered, drawing back. “Enough of that. Come, it’s getting late and you’ve a long journey ahead. The boy can hardly contain his excitement.”

  I started. “Boy?”

  She smiled. “Did you think we’d really let you go off on your own? Peregrine is going with you.” She wagged a finger, again cutting off my protest. “It’s not as if he’d stay, anyway. You know well that the moment you left, he’d be right behind you.”

  Chapter Three

  As we went into the courtyard, I saw Peregrine holding the reins of his horse, swathed in a cloak, his thick curls shoved under a wool cap. Mistress Ashley was right: If I tried to leave him behind, he’d not stay. I loathed exposing him again to the dangers of court, but he had always served me well. He had even saved my life—twice, as he liked to remind me. I could do no better when it came to a loyal companion.

  Kate turned from checking Cinnabar’s harness. “Ready?” she asked, with brittle cheer.

  “Except for him.” I motioned to Peregrine. He started to open his mouth in protest, but I cut him off. “You’re to do as I say at all times. No questions. No second-guessing me. You’ll act as my squire, and a squire must be at his master’s beck and call at all times. I don’t need to be worrying about what kind of mischief you’re getting yourself into. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, master,” he said indignantly.

  Kate tucked my cloak about me. “Be safe,” she said. Her voice cracked.

  “Kate.” I reached out.

  She took a step back. “No. No good-byes.”

  I gazed into her eyes. “I promise I’ll send word as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t.” With that one word, she conveyed everything we dared not say aloud, the mere fact that by setting quill to paper I might betray myself. “Just come home,” she said, and she pushed past Mistress Ashley, going under the archway back into the manor.

  I started to go after her. Mistress Ashley stopped me. “Let her be. I’ll look after her. You go now, before she changes her mind and orders her own horse saddled.”

  I turned back to Cinnabar. My horse snorted, eager to be off. Jumping onto a mounting block, Peregrine scrambled onto his dappled gelding.

  We rode to the road. I glanced over my shoulder to see Mistress Ashley framed by the redbrick house, the tenacious ivy turning brown where it curled about the windows. She raised her hand in farewell. I kept looking back as she and Hatfield faded from view.

  Though I did not see Kate, I knew she was at one of those windows, watching me.

  * * *

  The day was crisp, the sun an opaque halo in the bone white sky. Once we cleared the manor grounds, we took to a canter, the horses impatient to stretch their limbs. I didn’t want to fill the silence with idle talk. Sensing my mood, Peregrine kept quiet, at least until we stopped to eat our midday meal. As I sliced the cheese, venison, and bread, he finally let loose the one question I was sure he’d been burning to ask since Cecil’s visit. As usual he’d been listening in on every conversation he could, ferreting out the purpose for our trip.

  “Is she in danger?” he asked, munching down his bread. He had an insatiable appetite but never seemed to gain weight. Whenever I saw him eat like this, I wondered how much hunger he had experienced in his short life.

  “Chew your food. And yes, she might be. Or she might not be in any danger at all. I don’t know yet. That is why I am going to court, to find out.”

  He looked doubtful. “But I heard Kate and Mistress Ashley talking. Kate said the imperial ambassador was trying to have the princess arrested for treason.”

  “Did you really? Those big ears of yours are going to get you into more trouble one day than you’re worth. Have you already forgotten what I told you?”

  He sighed. “No second-guessing you.”

&nbs
p; “That’s right. I’m serious, Peregrine. This is not a game.”

  “Who said it was?” He sounded insulted. “But if she is in danger, you might as well tell me now. You wouldn’t want me to wander about not knowing.”

  “You’re not to wander at all. You’re to do as I tell you or I swear, I’ll send you back to Hatfield hog-tied, if need be.”

  “Yes, master.” He snatched the last slice of venison and crammed it into his mouth. “Just answer me one thing,” he said, chewing.

  “What?”

  “Tell me you’re not planning on falling into the river again. Because sometimes the Thames freezes in the winter and it would be hard to rescue you—” He laughed, ducking from the hand I swiped at his head. He had a wonderful laugh, like a young boy’s should be. For the first time since we left Hatfield I found myself smiling.

  “You’re impossible,” I said. “Let’s go. I want to reach the city before dark.”

  We resumed our journey. We passed few travelers on the road, an occasional farmer and band of merchants with carts of goods, trudging with heads down and wary greeting. Soon, however, the snow-flecked countryside of Hertfordshire began to give way to clusters of hamlets and lesser townships that indicated our proximity to London. The thoroughfare became more crowded; people were hustling to get through the city gates before curfew. As we passed a small stone church where bells tolled, I noted a recently repaired crucifix askew on its steeple, mortared clumsily back in place. Women with shawls draped about their heads clutched shivering children by the hand, answering the bells’ summons.

  Peregrine stared at the scene. I glanced at him. “Do you believe in the old faith?”

  He shrugged. “I never much cared for religion. I don’t think God does, either.”

  I was struck by how he had unwittingly described my own opinion. I, too, often wondered if one faith was any better than the other, considering how much blood had been spilled, but I kept my doubts hidden, for it was never safe to speculate aloud about religion.

  Dusk fell, thick with snow flurries. Cinnabar snorted impatiently. I patted his neck. I, too, was tired, not to mention cold. My hands in their gauntlets felt frozen to my reins, and my buttocks and thighs were saddle-sore. In my mind, I fled back over the road we’d just traversed, back to Hatfield, where Kate must be lighting the candles for the evening meal—