Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2)

by Elizabeth Keysian

The queen’s praise? She shook her head. “What time is it? Is it day? Why are the shutters still closed?”

  “They were closed, partly so you could rest undisturbed, and partly for your safety. Although all danger is now passed, I understand.”

  “What danger?” She sat up straighter, her breathing suddenly shallow.

  “Oh, I sound like an addle-pate. Let me tell you what I came to tell you without any further questions.”

  Jane cleared her throat, then unfolded a piece of paper and read from it.

  “Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England and what not and so on… sends her warmest thanks to Mistress Alys Barchard, lately of Selwood Manor in the shire of Suffolk, and decrees that the aforesaid Alys will not only have Selwood Manor as her own holding, but also the erstwhile manors of Stansted Magna, Lower… oh, the names matter not! Do you see, Alys? She has given you half the holdings attaindered from Hubert Norris, Richard Avery and Sir Thomas Kirlham. What an honor! Are you not pleased? Wherefore such a heavy frown?”

  Her head reeled. “What is she giving them to me for? What has she to thank me for?”

  “What has she to—? Merciful heavens, wench, this is not the time for modesty. The word of your bravery, your daring, is all around the court. How you entered into a secret plan with Sir Christopher Ludlow to sound it about that you wished to visit Mistress Aspinall. And that by doing so, you flushed that serpent Norris out into the open and, with yourself as bait, uncovered his connection with the plotters in a such a fashion that he could make no denial. ’Tis a pity Sir Christopher was wounded in the event, but he’s walking well enough now, and you seem nearly recovered, too. Now, as I am not needed elsewhere, I shall sit here while you tell me everything that transpired.”

  This was all too much. She must be dreaming or feverish from the medicines, and hallucinating. But Jane Haslitt was very real, as she settled herself at the foot of Alys’ bed with an expectant expression.

  “I really don’t understand—”

  “Wait, there’s someone outside the door.” Jane got to her feet as the door was quietly unlatched and opened.

  Alys must be dreaming. Her new visitor was Kit.

  He lingered in the doorway, frowning slightly at Jane, not even looking at Alys. “Ah, Sir Christopher—your ears must have been burning. You’ll be pleased to learn Mistress Barchard is a little better. How could she not be, in view of the honor recently done her by the queen?”

  Kit’s brown eyes glanced in Alys’ direction, sending skitters of awareness across her skin.

  “I should leave. Having two visitors is enough—I would not tire her.”

  “Why break the habit of the last few days?” Jane gave Alys a knowing look. “He has been in to see you every morning, even though he knew you weren’t awake.”

  His cheeks colored, and he cleared his throat. “I have tidings for Mistress Barchard, but fear she’s not yet strong enough to receive them.” He turned to go, but Jane reached the door before him.

  “Nonsense. But I sense you require privacy before you share your news. Anon.” She gave Alys a little wave, then closed the door behind her.

  Alys was left alone with Kit. And by the darkening of his frown, she could tell she wasn’t going to enjoy his news at all.

  Chapter Fifty

  Kit hovered near the bed, willing the telltale flush to subside. Alys looked unwell—he must deal gently with her. He would say no more, and no less, than he had come to say, and then the book would be closed, the story ended. He would return to his estates in Shropshire—and put all thought of her from his mind.

  He stared down at her, waiting for some sign, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. That alone should be enough to tell him there was no hope for them, if he hadn’t known it already.

  “I regret to tell you your cousin and fellow conspirators have been executed. It was considered too dangerous to allow them to remain alive, lest they become a focus for opposition to the queen. I am sorry to be the bearer of such hard news.”

  He’d been too blunt—her face had grown even paler, in stark contrast to the dark, disordered hair that cloaked her shoulders. Despite her dejection, she found the strength to raise her chin and—finally—meet his eyes. His gut twisted.

  “Thank you, Kit, for what you have done for me. I know that the lie you fabricated about us thwarting Norris must have cost you dear—I am aware how important your honor is to you. As for the executions, I’m no longer in any doubt that justice has been done. The generosity of the queen has been overwhelming. But I cannot accept the extra lands—I do not deserve them. You must tell me what to do.”

  Was that a hint of moisture in her blue-grey eyes? He moved closer. Of course, he should have known how much she’d blame herself. To admit her folly in front of him took considerable courage. Yes, those were definitely tears. He’d far rather she didn’t cry—he hated to see her so humbled.

  A brief vision crossed his mind, of that time when he had trapped her in the hedge maze at Selwood when she was berating him for not knowing his proper place. The memory made him smile and, for a moment, he felt as if the old Kit was back, a man who could laugh at the world, and mock it, whatever it tried to throw at him.

  She must have mistaken the smile, must have thought he was exulting over her, for she slid down in the bed and pulled the covers up to her ears.

  “I’m weary. I need to sleep some more.”

  Her body was shaking, but the sobs were silent. Suddenly, after the emptiness of the past weeks, his heart began to feel again. Before, he’d had water in his veins, but now the hot blood had returned, filled with feeling and emotion. He reached out, stroking the trembling shoulder through the thickness of the blanket, ready to take her in his arms. But she cringed away from him.

  It was too late. Of course, it was. Too much had happened—too many painful blows had been dealt to pride and belief. He must bring forward his plans to depart for Shropshire and just go. There was no point remaining where he wasn’t wanted.

  He left as quietly as he’d arrived and strode towards the stables to see how quickly his horse could be made ready. But on arrival, he almost collided with Rupert.

  “How now, good Sir Kit! By God, sir, but you look as miserable as a bawd with the pox.”

  Kit waved him away. “I’m in no humor for conversation. And I have much to do.”

  Rupert interposed himself between Kit and the stables and tapped the side of his nose. “I know what causes that clouded brow. A certain young female who has been in the wars of late.”

  “Get yourself gone, Rupert. I’m in a hurry.” Kit dodged one way—Rupert stepped in the same direction. Irritably, Kit pushed him aside, but the fellow refused to budge.

  “Not running away, I hope? Would you have her pine away?”

  “It’s nothing to laugh about.”

  “I’m not. I’m serious. I’ve seen the pair of you together. It’s high time you made up your quarrel, whatever it is. Between you, you’ve achieved great things—no such brilliant pairing should be torn asunder over quibbles.”

  Kit clamped his hands on Rupert’s shoulders, subtly reminding him of his superior height and strength. “There is nothing more to be said. She doesn’t want me. I’m going home.”

  Rupert smirked at him, eyes dancing. “The great lover, Sir Christopher Ludlow, rejected by a maid? There will be much rejoicing among the queen’s ladies, now that you are free again. But no.” His expression turned serious. “I have spent some time with Mistress Barchard and, being a good reader of character, know she is sick at heart. She has no one left but you, and whatever her attitude may seem to be at present, I’m certain she needs you.”

  Kit gave him a shove. “And I’m certain she doesn’t.”

  Rupert stepped aside and bowed. “Very well, if that’s how you will have it. But if you are to be leaving soon, pray quaff a jug of ale with me. And with some of the other youngbloods at Hatfield.”

  Why was he so persistent? Anyone would think he’
d been given orders to stop Kit leaving. Which was ridiculous.

  His shoulders drooped. Perhaps a cup of wine would ease a little of his suffering. It would indeed be churlish to leave without making his farewells.

  “Very well, Rupert, you shall have your way. Only, swear you’ll say no more of Alys, or try and persuade me to stay.”

  Rupert’s eyes twinkled. “An excellent decision. I vow I’ll speak no more of Alys. But I can’t promise not to try and make you stay.”

  Kit managed a chuckle, clapped his companion on the back, and turned back towards the palace.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  It was clear Kit would be spending another night at Hatfield. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but he’d been drinking well into the evening, making his limbs feel like lead, and leaving him disinclined to do anything. Which was why he was completely unprepared for the attack his companions launched on him.

  A hand was clamped over his mouth and his hands secured to his sides as he was dragged, writhing and kicking, into a darkened passageway. Someone removed his boots and belt, and before he knew it, his clothes were being stripped from him, amidst shouts and guffaws of laughter. Expecting to be thrown into the horse trough, or some other such jest, he was completely flummoxed when a door was opened, and he was thrown unceremoniously into a pitch-black chamber.

  Before he could find the breath to protest, the door had been pulled shut again, and the key turned in the lock. He staggered upright, throwing himself against the stout oak, cursing loudly.

  “Open this door, you cursed knaves. Come back here and face me man to man, you lily-livered cowards. Damn you all to hell!”

  “Kit?”

  His fist froze midway to the door, then fell to his side. He peered around, trying to pierce the darkness. “Is that you, Alys? God’s teeth!”

  Of all the—! Picturing himself turning Rupert inside-out and making a purse of his genitals, he renewed his assault on the door.

  “Come back here, you whey-faced poltroons. This is a lady’s chamber. Have you no thought for her reputation?”

  “We’ll come back when we’re good and ready,” drawled a male voice from the other side of the door.

  “And when you’re prepared to ask nicely.” That sounded like Rupert. Death was too good for such a one. There was more muffled laughter, then the sound of footsteps diminishing down the passageway.

  His shoulders slumped. He could try breaking the door down, but he couldn’t see in the dark for anything to attack it with. And he couldn’t light a candle because…

  “Alys—what are you doing? Ye gods, no. No light!”

  Too late. She was already holding a glowing taper to the candle wick. Seconds later, a faint golden glow illuminated the room. He sobered up in an instant and threw himself to the floor.

  “Kit. What in heaven’s name is going on? Why are you lurking down by the foot of my bed?”

  “Forgive me—this was none of my doing. Some of my so-called friends decided it would be a merry jest to thrust me in here and lock the door. I admit they are in their cups, but that will not spare them the sharp edge of my sword when I get out of here.”

  They must have known exactly what they were doing, which room it was. A conspiracy had been afoot under his very nose, and he’d failed to see it.

  He raised himself up a little, so he could see Alys’ face. “I apologize for my curses—that was language unfit for a lady’s ears.”

  A snort escaped her. Was that amusement flickering at the corners of her mouth? She obviously cared not one whit for his damaged pride.

  “I am grown used to your curses, sir—I’ve heard them often enough. I’m also becoming accustomed to the sight of you unclothed. In some ways, your nakedness is more familiar to me than your court finery.”

  He could hardly believe his ears—he’d expected bitter recriminations, or cold, disapproving silence. Even screaming. Instead, she was teasing him.

  “Do you mock me, Madam?”

  “Nay, of course not. But tell me, are you often the butt of such jests as this one?”

  “Certainly not. The perpetrator, occasionally. Such pranks are not uncommon amongst the younger courtiers—I regret you’ve found yourself embroiled in this one. It may be difficult to escape this situation with our reputations intact.”

  “I daresay your reputation will be enhanced by it.”

  He straightened slightly—having a conversation while crouched on the floor was uncomfortable, and his injured thigh was protesting. If she continued to taunt him, he’d damned well stand up.

  “Perhaps it is a reputation I no longer care to have. My wild days are behind me.” He did his best to sound offended.

  “No, no, I’m sorry. There is just so much I neither know nor understand about you. Hardly surprising when you have spent the better part of our acquaintance playing a part.”

  “It went against my nature. I wanted to reveal my true self to you, yet I dared not give myself away.”

  She settled on the edge of her bed. A relief. He could keep his dignity—what remained of it—for now.

  “You wanted to talk to me? When?” Her face had definitely brightened. That defeated look he’d seen earlier was quite vanished. His heart sped up.

  “Almost since I first saw you, when I first realized how superior you were to the rest, beautiful, clever… yet so repressed. Your cousin did you no favors, Alys, but I’ll say no more. I have no wish to speak ill of the dead.”

  “I don’t believe you trusted me then. You thought I was in league with the Spanish and the Scots.”

  “I suspected everyone at first. Then I got to know you, and it would have cut me to the marrow to discover you were my enemy. But later, not even that would have stopped me wanting to make you mine.” His voice caught. The truth was spilling out of him, and if she rejected him now that he’d laid his heart before her, it would be unimaginable.

  He held her gaze. “We’ve had a very stormy passage, Alys Barchard, and many hurtful words have been spoken. But let us put that behind us now and address our most immediate problem—how to execute my escape.”

  She chewed on her lower lip a moment, then looked at him from under her long lashes. “What if I don’t want you to escape?”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Alys felt happier, more alive than she had in days. The sight of Kit, without all the trappings of his high degree, reminded her poignantly of the deep attraction she’d felt for him at Selwood. While he’d been talking, she’d been stealing greedy glances at his vividly handsome face, his tousled dark hair, and perfectly-muscled chest. There was a smattering of fine dark hair across his breast which she’d not noticed before. It fascinated her.

  “Are you completely naked?”

  “You’re laughing at me. This is not the moment for humor.”

  He hadn’t answered her question. Which meant he was. Completely naked. Shivers of anticipation scuttled down her spine.

  “How did they manage to catch you so unprepared? Did they drag you out of the tub, or something?”

  There was a warning look in his eyes. It excited her.

  “Believe me, they did not take me easily. Had it not been ten to one, they would not have triumphed. I’ll know who they are on the morrow—one or two took some heavy blows before they subdued me. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop asking questions, and throw me a sheet or something, so I can make myself decent.”

  A pity. She took her time to comply and enjoyed the sight of Kit’s broad back as he stood up to tuck her bed cover around his waist. Hands on slender hips, he surveyed the room.

  The cover she’d given him was highly embroidered, very feminine, with bold flowers and charming little birds adorning it. The sight of it swathed around Kit’s intensely masculine body was so incongruous, she couldn’t help but giggle.

  He spun around. “You’re still laughing at me.”

  “I can’t help it,” she choked out.

  His brow darkened. “You’re overwrought
after the news of the day. I beg you to control yourself, Madam.”

  She just stared at him while her shoulders shook.

  He gave her a black look. It made no difference.

  “Let’s see if you find this funny,” he muttered darkly, and let the bed cover fall to the floor.

  Not funny at all. Shocking. Fascinating. Compelling. Laughter forgotten, she feasted her eyes on him greedily as he approached the bed and settled down on the mattress, dangerously close. No, not close enough. She wanted him with a hunger that took her by surprise.

  Their gazes locked, and she spread her arms, welcoming him as he bore her backwards onto the bed.

  His lips grazed her ear. “Do you remember the morning after the flood? I told you I wished to finish the business we had begun.”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her head was trapped against the pillow by his hand buried deep in her hair, the heat of his hard body pressing against her making her wish she, too, was naked.

  “You have taunted me, tempted me, teased me. You have humiliated and spurned me, Mistress Barchard. Yet despite all this, I find I cannot easily give you up. I’d rather have you laugh at me than hate me.”

  She gazed up at his beautifully sculpted mouth, so maddeningly close. But she didn’t deserve his kiss. Not yet.

  “I could never hate you. All those things I accused you of—I was wrong.”

  Kit shifted his weight so he could look down at her. “You’re not teasing me now?”

  “I’m not teasing you now. I’m apologizing.”

  “You understand why I refused to take you to Kate?”

  “I do now.” She was trembling—but not from fear. “I was being selfish, and I didn’t realize how dangerous she was. But you knew, didn’t you?”

  “I have an instinct about people. But you have remained an enigma, in more ways than one. It could take me a lifetime to unravel your secrets. I will delight in uncovering them all.” His mouth widened in a sinful smile.