The Tudor Vendetta Page 4

  “I … I had no idea it had gone so far.” My stomach knotted. The last thing I wanted was to once more find myself thrust as a wedge between Dudley and his ambitions.

  Cecil said, “It’s gone further than even that. Even as she dallies with him, the papists fling doubts of her legitimacy against her, citing Rome never sanctioned King Henry’s union with her mother. Not to mention that any prince who cares to pursue her will think twice if they learn they must compete with her Master of Horse. Already gossip spreads abroad, making my job even more impossible. Dudley is a blight. He must be excised, eliminated as a threat.”

  “And you expect me to do it?” I exclaimed. “His former squire, who helped ruin his family? You want me to—what? Stab him through the heart in a duel over her honor?”

  Cecil sniffed. “I hardly think killing him is necessary, much as the idea might appeal. Dudley cannot be other than who he is; in time, given enough incentive, he will show his hand. Until then, however, we need someone to distract her. She requested that I bring you to court. After Dudley, I daresay there isn’t a man in all of England she likes more, nor one better suited to remind her of it.”

  I stared at him. “Are you asking me to … seduce her?” He regarded me in silence, until I hissed, “God’s teeth, man, are you mad? We are kin! Her father was my mother’s brother.”

  Cecil tugged fastidiously at his sleeve. “Again, your imagination runs wild. There are many ways to seduce a woman, and crown notwithstanding, Elizabeth is still very much a woman, and a young one, at that. She trusts you. It is a powerful weapon, if you learn to use it.”

  I might have burst out laughing had the entire conversation not been so outrageous. “So, what is your plan, exactly? To wield me as an instrument of envy? To stoke Robert Dudley’s already burning hatred of me to such a fury that he’ll afford you the means to discredit him?”

  “Have you a better plan?” he replied. “She values you highly. Dudley is aware of it; already, he seethes at the very sight of you. He does not know you share her blood. Your presence at her side is all that is required. Let Dudley dig his own grave.”

  “Or mine,” I said through my teeth. “Because that is what he’ll try.”

  “Let him. I will be ready. Until then, however, you will watch over her, keep her occupied until I see to her coronation and other tasks on my plate. She must be steered away from further entanglement with Dudley. I do not want”—he exhaled a terse breath—“we cannot afford any more rumors where he is concerned. I must present her as a suitable royal bride.”

  As distasteful as the scenario was, I had only to recall Dudley’s mouthed threat to me in the hall to concede Cecil’s point. Besides, it would not be long, I wagered, before Dudley devised some means to attack me. I might as well prepare.

  “Fine,” I said curtly. “But you’d best be ready to safeguard me, should Dudley get out of hand.”

  “You have Elizabeth to do that,” he replied. “But, yes, naturally; should the situation become unmanageable, I will intervene. In the meantime, I shall supply everything you need, the necessary coin for your expenses and apparel, as well as—”

  “Is my horse here?” I interrupted.

  He blinked. “I believe so. Once I heard you were on your way, I sent a groom to fetch it from my manor of Theobalds so it could be housed in the royal stables.”

  “He,” I corrected him. Turning about, I retrieved my saddlebag. “His name is Cinnabar.” I started walking in the opposite direction, passing Walsingham as he frowned and rose from his perch by the window. I did not explain. I simply left his bag that he might carry it henceforth.

  I might still be a servant but I did not serve him anymore.

  Chapter Four

  I awoke to snuffling outside the stall. Wiping grit from my eyes, I blinked away the leaden weight of a dreamless sleep, into which I had sunk like a stone after checking on Cinnabar, whom I had found stabled with plenty of feed and so delighted to see me he nipped me hard to prove it. Righting myself on my elbows, I peered between my steed’s legs to the stall gate. I had slept curled in my cloak in the back of the stall, on clean hay; it struck me that I had reverted to my childhood habits, seeking refuge in the stables as I’d often done to escape the Dudley horde.

  A wet black nose pressed at the opening under the gate. When it caught my scent, an explosion of excited barking ensued, loud enough to rouse the entire palace.

  Wincing at my still-sore back (I vowed never to sail the Channel again, so long as I lived), I ran a hand over my close-cropped skull and grabbed my boots and cloak, shedding hay as I rounded my horse to unlatch the gate. No doubt one of the stable hands had returned from walking a nobleman’s dog, and I preferred not to be caught snoozing like a thief in the queen’s own—

  A silver-gray beast flew at me, jumping on muscular hindquarters to slam its front paws against my chest. I cried out, staggering backward as Urian, Elizabeth’s favorite hound, slavered my face, mewling and carrying on as though we’d been parted an eternity. “Stop,” I gasped, fumbling at his collar. “Urian, no!” But I was laughing, too, for I was quite fond of the dog, and it was the first warm welcome I’d received. It was not until I managed to grasp hold of his trailing lead and yank him away that I saw her staring at me, immobile as a statue.

  My heart somersaulted. Though she stood steps away, the distance between us yawned like a chasm.

  “Brendan…?” Her voice was low, unsure. In that one utterance, I heard an abrupt hesitation that punched like a fist into my gut. Kate took a step toward me. “So, it’s true,” she said. “You’re back.”

  My four-year absence suddenly felt like an eternity. The last time I had seen her, she was walking into the Tower at Elizabeth’s side to share her captivity. As I marked the toll of my absence on her face, the hurt and confusion, memories swept through me, of her laughing in our tousled bed in Hatfield, still warm from the waning heat of our lovemaking, her eyes shining as she traced the birthmark on my hip and spoke of the day when we could marry. It made me want to crumple to my knees.

  I had left her without a word. I had never explained why.

  I rested a hand on Urian as he sat beside me, gazing up in adoration. “Yes,” I said softly.

  “When—when did you arrive?” she asked.

  I motioned to my hay-strewn person. “Last night. I found the ambience at court stifling, so I opted for bedding here instead. I can’t be broken of my habits, it seems.” In my nervousness, I heard myself start to chuckle. My mirth withered in my throat as she took another step forward.

  “Don’t.” She pushed her hood to her shoulders, her deep brown eyes huge in a visage that I found too thin, too pale as she said, “You cannot make light of it. Not this time.”

  I swallowed. I had dreaded this moment, gone through my head a thousand times what I would say. How I would explain that I’d kept watch over her through Cecil’s informants, menials he’d bribed in the manors where she and Elizabeth were confined; how I had wanted so many times to write but feared that my letters might be intercepted, that somehow my own whereabouts would be discovered, endangering her. Now, I realized my explanations would sound self-effacing, the protests of a man more interested in protecting himself. I had never found it easy even in the best of circumstances to reveal myself; now, it felt as if any excuse I offered would be a lie.

  “You … you’re so lean,” she said. “I hardly recognized you. You’ve cut off all your hair, too, and your beard, it is so thick.…” Her voice trailed off, as if she were talking to a stranger who wore a familiar but suspicious visage.

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t paused to consider how much I, too, had changed.

  She remained silent, studying me as if she couldn’t quite accept that I stood before her in a rumpled tunic and sagging hose, my boots and cloak heaped at my feet. Then she whistled and she said, “Urian, come!” She turned to walk away.

  The dog whined, lifting plaintive eyes to me. Taking up his lead, I has
tened after her. “Kate! Kate, wait. Do not—”

  She whirled around, bringing me to a halt. Something flamed in her eyes, like jagged lightning. “Do not?” she said. “Do not ask where you went after you left us in the Tower or where you’ve been these past years? Or do not ask why you never sent word to let me know you were alive? Do not ask anything: Is that what you want?”

  “Kate, I—”

  Her hand flew out, striking me hard across the cheek. My teeth cut into my lower lip. Tasting my blood, I said, “I know I deserve that. You have every right to hate me.”

  She was trembling, her hand pressed to her chest as though it had struck me of its own accord. “I don’t…” Tears filled her eyes. “That’s the trouble. I cannot hate you, but I want to. I need to.” Turning about again, she staggered against her hem. I reached out, taking her by the arm to steady her. The moment she felt my hand, she froze.

  “You must let me go,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “Not until you listen to me.” All of a sudden, my words tumbled from me in a frantic rush. “I did not leave voluntarily. The Imperial ambassador, Renard; he sent men after me. My life was in danger. Cecil and his household were in danger because of me. I had to go abroad. There was no other way.”

  She had to understand my predicament. She was Cecil’s ward. After her mother’s death, he and his wife had taken Kate into their home, raised her as their own. She loved them as she would her own parents, and they loved her. She would not have wanted them in harm’s way, not even for my sake. She did not react as I spoke, her face averted, her body so tense that I finally let go of her arm. “I went to Basel,” I added, “to stay with Walsingham. He agreed to take me in and train me. I was not allowed to write from there, either.”

  After a long moment, she raised her gaze. “I know. Cecil told me. He came to Hatfield after Mary died. He told me everything. I had just hoped to hear it from you instead.”

  “I wanted to tell you! Kate, I swear it. But I could not. It was too—”

  “Dangerous. Yes, I’ve heard that before.” She gave me a bitter smile. “It’s always been too dangerous wherever Elizabeth is concerned. From the day you swore to serve her, we have dwelled on the edge of her plight. Now, she has won. She is queen.” Kate paused. “But I don’t imagine it’ll be any less dangerous. And you will be at her side to see her through it, no matter the cost.”

  My throat knotted. “You know why I must serve her.”

  Her sigh had no rage left, no accusation, only heartbreaking resignation. “Sometimes, I wish I did not know it. Sometimes, I wish you had never told me. This bond you share with her, it consumes everything. It leaves no place for anyone else.”

  Desolation cracked open inside me. Sensing my distress, Urian barked in agitation. From the stalls behind us the horses whickered, Cinnabar’s distinctive neigh among them. I longed to enfold Kate in my arms and reassure her that we could still forge a life together, forget the past and start anew. But I could not lie to her anymore; I couldn’t maintain the illusion. Kate knew the truth: There would be no safety for us, and not only because of my duty to Elizabeth.

  “I had no choice,” I whispered. “I left because it meant that you would be kept safe. After what happened to Peregrine, I … I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, too.”

  She raised her hand. This time, she set it upon my cheek, over the ebbing sting of her blow. “Instead, I have lost you.”

  “That is not true,” I started to protest, and then I fell silent, remembering with a wrenching pain another pair of eyes, other hands. I had done more than forsake her. I had betrayed her with a woman whose cunning had blinded me, whose presence had led me into a darkness I had never fully escaped. Even now, she haunted my dreams. Never had I desired anyone as I much as I had Sybilla Darrier and never had my own desire proved so lethal to those around me.

  Kate said, “I do not want any more promises. You must be true to the path you have chosen. I will no longer stand in your way. Good-bye, Brendan.”

  I stood as if paralyzed as she took Urian’s lead and moved to the stable entrance, the dog padding behind her, looking over his shoulder as if entreating me to follow.

  My cry burned in my throat, a vow to leave it all behind for her, to take her away this hour and find somewhere, anywhere, to build our love anew. But I remained silent, watching her vanish without a word into the cold light of day outside. When I finally moved, it was with a moan, as I buried my face in my hands.

  I had done what I must to ensure her safety but she had not lied.

  We were indeed lost to each other.

  * * *

  Walsingham glanced up as I walked through the door. He sat on a narrow stool, pulling on his boots. It had not taken long to locate him. I had gone to the oldest part of Whitehall, in the lower wing, and now made cursory appraisal of our accommodations—a meager room, with two board beds stuffed with straw (I could tell by how lumpy they were) occupying most of the limited space, a chipped wooden chest for clothing, side table, and ubiquitous closestool. It smelled of damp and rank tallow. There was no window. I could feel winter seeping up through the plank floor laid directly over the stone foundation.

  “Luxurious,” I remarked, tossing my saddlebag onto the nearest bed. I could not tell which one was his. Both looked untouched. Had he even slept?

  “It’s only for a short while,” he said, returning to his boot. “Cecil is renting a house nearby. I’ll need a proper place for when my books and papers arrive, and I’d rather not spend too much time in such close quarters.”

  Though I agreed, I refrained from comment and rummaged in my bag for my poniard and cup. Stepping past him to the table, upon which were a decanter, a hunk of bread, and some hard cheese, I cut a slice of the latter and poured the watered ale into my cup. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since our fare at the inn, and despite the morning’s upset, I was famished.

  Walsingham cleared his throat. Looking around, I found him upright, fully attired in his habitual black. I had missed an opportunity by not joining him the previous night; having never seen him undressed, it seemed impossible that actual human flesh might lurk under that colorless armor of his, which he wore like a carapace.

  “Dressed for court?” I asked.

  He gave me a sliver of a smile. “I do not care to impress. You, on the other hand, must do everything you can to gain the queen’s attention. I suggest you wash yourself and air out your clothes. She expects you this very afternoon in her apartments. Cecil was here this morning and left a pouch of coin in the coffer, along with the address of a tailor. If you’re going to play the courtier, you will need to dress the part.”

  I deliberately sliced more bread and cheese, not revealing the jolt his words sent through me. I had not expected Elizabeth would ask to see me so soon. “I thought she was busy,” I said.

  “Apparently not.” His brow arched. “Or were you planning on sleeping away the day? By the looks of it, you’ve had a rough night.”

  I set my cup down with an audible clang. “My plans are not your concern. I no longer answer to you.” I recognized the absurdity of lashing out at him, for he was not to blame, but I couldn’t control it. I suddenly loathed him. I loathed the court and wished I had never returned. At least in exile, I could pretend to aspire to another fate, believe there was some way to heal what I’d shattered. Not even the thought of serving Elizabeth assuaged me; all I could envision at this moment was a life of endless subterfuge, subject to Cecil’s ploys and to Dudley’s hatred of me—if I survived that long.

  “You are right,” he said. “You do not serve me. Thus, you are free to do as you wish. However, if you would permit me one last bit of advice…?”

  I glared. “When did my leave or lack thereof ever stop you before?”

  He sniffed. “I realize the task at hand may seem unworthy of you, being bait to trap Dudley. Nevertheless, an intelligencer does as ordered, regardless of personal preference. I hope you have not wasted
my time. You have the potential to be our most accomplished asset. Certainly our best-positioned,” he added, “given your intimacy with the queen. But there is no room for error. If you have any doubts, you are unfit and should resign your charge at once. Disappointment is preferable to weakness.”

  His blunt rebuke made my jaw clench. Yet as he turned to the door, I heard myself say, “I do not doubt.” He paused, not looking at me. “And I’ll be in her apartments,” I said. “Wearing my best doublet and smelling of lavender, I promise.”

  “I don’t care about promises” was his reply, in unsettling echo of Kate’s words to me in the stables. “All I want is compliance. Remember what you are, not who you were.” He pulled open the door. “You are expected at the stroke of one. Don’t be late. She dislikes tardiness.”

  He left me standing there, my resentment curdling inside me.

  Chapter Five

  After consuming all the bread and cheese, and most of the ale, I felt better in my stomach, if not my spirits. Moving to the chest, I found my sword enveloped carefully in its scabbard and oiled cloth to weather the voyage. I hesitated, my hand hovering over it. It had come to me unexpectedly, thrown at me for my defense in a dying king’s secret chamber. Would I have need of it today?

  I did not think so. Moving it aside, I located the pouch of coin and clothing Cecil had brought: an elegant doublet made of maroon velvet, with matching hose, breeches, codpiece, and sleeves of crimson damask. I eyed the quality as I spread them on the bed. Cecil had thought of everything; he probably even had my measurements right. Taking a fresh chemise and under-linens from my bag, I draped them across the stool to air out the wrinkles and stink of travel before I went out in search of water. Whitehall had common bathing quarters, but I was in no mood for the company of gossiping, naked courtiers. A trough in a nearby courtyard yielded what I sought; splashing my face and hands, I used a cube of soap wrapped in linen to scrub myself, shivering in the cold as I toweled my body. I left a scum of grime on the surface of the water. Returning to my room, I ignored the curious glances of passing ushers and pages in the corridors.