Frustration rose at the thought of yet another failure in his quest to restore Nick’s title. Kit waited for it to begin its usual gnaw at his vitals. Instead, it almost immediately gave way to a strange sort of relief.
Startled, Kit pondered the feeling, only to come bolt upright. May God take his soul, but he was relieved on Mistress Anne’s behalf. When had he begun to let himself consider her pain as a factor in the restoration of Nick’s title?
Well, that simply could not be. Whether Amyas stood in his way, Kit would use Mistress Anne as he must, giving no further thought to her downfall. Jaw firm in his resolution, Kit shifted his coat over his shoulders as the huntsman reemerged from the garden.
“Her Majesty awaits you at the garden’s end,” the commoner said. So great was the huntsman’s value to his royal mistress that he need offer Kit but the barest nod before he strode away.
Elizabeth loved to hunt and Greenwich offered her ample opportunity. Thus, did she bring her court here from May until her summer progress started, despite the palace’s somewhat rustic condition. With the master huntsman gone, Kit turned his attention on the long bank of brick buildings that followed the Thames, running perpendicular to the queen’s residence.
It was from this part of the palace compound that Mistress Anne would come, as that was where Elizabeth kept her quarters. Unfortunately, all Kit could see of it was the watergate, a massive square tower studded with tall windows that allowed river egress to the palace. The windows were flat and dark, as dull as the day. It would be hours before the sun broke through the clouds if it ever did.
At last Mistress Anne trotted through the narrow passageway that separated the two sets of royal residences. She paused, her cloak billowing open around her. Kit’s brows rose in surprise. Even in the weak light he could see her bodice, sleeves, and skirt were all the same rich orangish-brown color, a monotony of color totally against fashion. Upon her head she wore a headdress of black velvet. Rather than detract, this plainness of color served to draw attention to the perfection of her face.
Peering past her, Kit waited for her escort to appear. There was no one, not her governess, a guardsman, or even a page. He frowned at her. Hadn’t she learned anything from her encounter with Deyville? By God, but he’d give her a good chiding for such idiocy.
Kit nearly groaned at his own foolishness. Here he was again worrying about her when vulnerable was just how he needed her. He watched her scan the garden’s darkened wall. Her gaze slipped right past him without reaction.
He smiled. As the wall yet cast in deep shadow she hadn’t seen him. He considered stepping out to reveal himself then discarded the thought. Like the predator he had to be, Kit stayed still and awaited his quarry’s approach.
The queen had called for her, and she was late. The words kept repeating in Anne’s head like some horrible litany. What if her tardiness caused the queen to lose her temper? Anne shuddered at the thought and squinted at the darkened wall, trying to remember where the garden gate was. Her nerves were so frayed she could barely see, much less discern the arch of stone that marked the opening.
As she located her target Anne lifted her skirts with one hand, clamped the other upon her headdress to hold it in place, and ran. This was all Patience’s fault. Elizabeth’s unexpected command left Anne no time for her usual morning prayers. When Patience’s angry protests that duty to God came before that to earthly rulers went unheeded, Anne’s keeper turned the act of dressing into the punishment. Laces were drawn with aching slowness through eyelets. Bits of attire were misplaced, only to be rediscovered long moments later.
Anne skidded to halt before the gate, the tiles that paved the pathway being slick with rain. More fool her for ever feeling any softness toward that stubborn chit. If she’d owned the power, Anne would have dismissed Patience at once. Well, one thing was certain. If the queen punished her for her tardiness, Patience would pay as well, Anne would see to that. She reached for the latch.
“Hoyden, did your mother never teach you that it’s unmannerly for a woman to run?” a man asked.
With a squeak Anne leapt back from the gate. Fear exploded in her. Idiot! Why hadn’t she waited for a page to escort her? Because Patience had made her late and a page would expect her to walk, instead of run just as this man charged.
The lurker shifted in the shadows. Anne took another backward step, half-fearing it was Deyville, although she’d heard he’d left Greenwich. Instead Master Christopher appeared out of the darkness.
His breeches, coat, and hat were all a pewter color while his doublet was a muted blue-gray, the color bringing out unexpected blues in his green eyes. Its collar was so tall it forced the lacy folds of his ruff to follow the strong line of his jaw. This morn a tiny earbob dangled from one ear.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said in breathless greeting, trying to stem the delight that flooded over her at this encounter. She’d nigh on eaten her heart out these past four days thinking he avoided her. “Where have you been?” The words were out before she could stop them.
The pleasure that filled his face at her question was almost worth the possibility of the queen’s wrath. “In London on the queen’s business.”
He turned to open the gate then stepped aside so she might precede him into the northernmost of Greenwich’s two pleasure gardens. Anne strode a few feet into the enclosure only to stop in dismay. Unlike the southern garden, which was arranged in a series of squares marked out with walks, each plot filled with low growing herbs planted in careful designs, this side was far wilder. Apples and pear trees, their branches clouded in delicate blossoms, stood upon small hillocks thick with a velvet carpet of grass. Crowded at their feet, daffodils nodded with heaven’s every sigh, humbly accepting the shower of cast-off blooms that snowed down upon them. Bees droned, birds sang.
Panic soared. How was she to know where the queen was? Anne turned right and trotted toward the far wall along the narrow paved pathway, all the while peering through the foliage as she sought something that might point her in the right direction.
Master Christopher strode alongside her. “Where are you going?”
“The queen has called for me, and I’m late,” Anne cried out without pausing as her belled skirts jerked through the thick grass.
“Ah, so that’s what has you dashing,” he said, his voice filled with gentle teasing. “I heard our mistress has been a bit sharp of late.” Friendly amusement glowed in his green eyes.
“This is no jest,” Anne snapped.
“Aye, you’re right about that. The queen’s anger is no jest,” he agreed. “Now, stop. You’re not late.”
“How would you know?” Anne stretched her legs as she tried to escape him.
He caught her elbow and pulled her to a halt. “Did no one tell you that the queen called us both to her?” he asked, a frown marking his brow. “I can but guess we’re to speak of dancing lessons. As for being late, you can’t be. We weren’t expected for another quarter hour.”
Anne froze in relief. There would be no royal raging. This was surely a sign that God had forgiven her for missing her prayers, even if Patience never would.
Master Christopher smiled. “Feel better, now that you know she’ll not be angry with you? Frankly, I’d not have thought you one so easily frightened.”
“Anyone who does not fear our mistress’s rages is a fool,” she told him, with a shake of her head. “Yesterday, Mistress Brooke dared speak boldly to Her Grace, something that well and all deserved a chiding. But so wild and wicked was the tongue-lashing she received that the poor lass collapsed.”
Still awed by the event, Anne’s voice grew hushed. “I’ve never seen the like. The things she said, I vow, my ears burned. No one dared come near her for an hour, not even Mary, for fear she’d start again.”
Master Hollier winked at her and offered his arm. “You tell me nothing I’ve not seen with mine own eyes. Ah, but where there’s storm and thunder, there’s heaven as well. Everyone at court covets o
ne of our princess’s smiles.”
“I suppose,” Anne replied, no conviction in her voice, as she settled her hand into the bend of his elbow.
As her fingers again curled into the strength of his arm, Anne’s resolve to wed Master Christopher Hollier firmed anew. The sooner she began to chip at that vow of his, the sooner they’d be married. She shifted nearer to him until their upper arms touched then set herself to charming him as best she could.
“You may lead me to my royal mistress, Master Escort,” she said, then smiled, “but only if there’ll be no more nagging over my manners or lack thereof. That, I have in plenty from my governess.”
“Nag?” Master Christopher protested, his lips held in a half-smile as he gave a cocky lift of one brow. “I never nag. You’re much too lovely for something so crass. This way.” He turned and led her back toward the gate.
Yet clinging close, Anne laughed. “Glad I am someone sent you to wait for me, else who knows how long I’d have wandered in this wilderness.”
“Sent?” His face was the picture of righteous indignation. “I’m wounded to the core that you should think any man or woman need send me into your company. I, mistress, am your faithful servant, my hands and feet yours to command.”
Anne stifled her groan. A week at court, and she was already swimming in body parts. The terrible need to do mischief followed. She looked askance at him. “Haven’t you anything better to offer?”
Master Hollier came to an abrupt halt. So completely had her words surprised him that his mouth hung open. His brows were high upon his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”
Fixing an innocent expression on her face, Anne looked up at him. “It’s just that I’ve no need for either your hands or your feet, having been offered so many of these limbs by other men. What of your liver? Might I have that, or has some other woman already laid claim to it?”
The most incredible series of emotions flashed through Master Christopher’s eyes. There was shock that she should tease him whilst he was in the midst of flattery, then appreciation for her jest, followed by a flash of fear so brief that Anne wasn’t truly certain she’d seen it.
At last the corners of his mouth lifted. Golden lights sparked in his green eyes, and fine lines of amusement creased his cheeks.
“My liver, is it? A kidney would not do?” He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, his mouth pursed and one eye closed, as if he were dickering over an item at the market.
Anne knit her brow to show she was considering this trade then she shook her head. “Nay, it’ll be your liver or nothing.”
“I see,” he replied. “Well then, the liver it must be. However, since that organ is more precious to me than my hands or feet, I fear I cannot simply give it to you. Instead, I must have something in trade.”
Disappointment shot through Anne. Was he so single-minded in his pursuit that there was no imagination left to his flattery? “And what would you have from me that might be equal in value?” she asked, bracing herself for what would certainly be the suggestion that she give him her heart, trading one organ for another.
He drew her into his embrace, his arms held loosely around her. “A kiss,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “You may own my liver in trade for a kiss.”
A tremor tore through Anne with his words. Beneath her palms she could feel the steady thud of his heart. Heat spread from where his arms touched her to every corner of her being.
How she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, but it was his walls she meant to breach, not to let him through hers. “Nay, it cannot be. It’s hardly an even trade,” she told him, keeping her tone light and teasing. “My kiss is priceless, or so I’ve been told. You’ll have to add something more to the bargain if you’re to have one of my kisses.”
“What might that be?” he demanded softly, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips against the curve of her cheek.
Even wearing gloves, his touch had the power to make Anne’s knees shake. With a laugh she backed out of his embrace then danced out of his reach, skipping a few steps up the path. Master Christopher stood where she’d left him.
“I’m not certain. Let me think on it some,” she called back over her shoulder. “Are you content to wait until I’ve calculated the value of my kiss, no matter how long that might be?”
“Mistress, I’d wait for you until the world ends,” he said. Pretty words, belied by the disappointment in his gaze.
Anne’s smile broadened. “And so you very well may.”
“Why, you little tease!” he cried, the sound stained with laughter.
He started after her, but Anne skipped away, her swinging skirts tossing cast-off petals with every step. She turned toward him, her hands on her hips. “Nay, I’d call it tit for tat. This is nothing more than payment for how you frightened me near to death by calling out of the shadows this morn.”
He came to a stop before her, then swept his hat from his head and offered her his most graceful bow. “I am justly repaid.”
With a sigh, he straightened. “Well, since you’ll not kiss me, I suppose we’ve nothing left to do save kneel before our mistress and see if she lets us keep our heads attached to our necks today.”
Behind his smile Kit’s teeth were clenched in frustration. How could he be wanting her so badly he could barely think when she seemed untouched by the slightest pang of desire? Bertie was right. She’d seen his plan for her on that first day and was now warned against him.
At least there was no hesitation on her part when he again offered his arm. Nay, no hesitation at all. Dear God, but it was both heaven and hell to have her so close to him. While he stewed in his own juices, she glanced happily around her, savoring the garden’s beauty as he led her to its far end.
There, Mistress Mary, along with the prim-faced countess of Warwick and pretty Lady Scrope, bore Elizabeth company this morn. These women already wore their green and brown hunting attire while he and Mistress Anne had to wait until after this audience to change into the day’s required costume. Without farthingales beneath their skirts, their clothing clung strangely close to their legs.
Mistress Mary pointed to them, and Elizabeth turned. As with all her other garments the queen’s attire set her above the rest. Her forest-green doublet was decorated with golden ribbons and a great pin set with emeralds, while a tall white plume waved from her hat.
“Why, here is our Mistress Blanchemain, looking fine indeed this morn,” she called out, sounding as pleasant and sweet as any woman might. Whatever soured the royal mood these past days seemed to have eased.
As Kit and Mistress Anne reached her they began to kneel. Elizabeth waved her hand. “Nay, I’ll have none of that this morn. Here, walk with me a moment.”
Startled, Kit glanced at Mistress Anne. She was as surprised as he that they should be allowed such intimacy. There was nothing for them to do save join their queen as she strode a few yards back into the garden.
“You should be aware that there is a wager,” Elizabeth said without preamble as she stopped. She glanced between her chosen dancing master and that man’s student. Even in the day’s rain-grayed light the jeweled pins that held her curls in place glinted.
Her gaze settled on Mistress Anne. “It seems the earl of Leicester believes you won’t dance even the slower dances before summer’s end. Indeed, he swears a Galliard will be out of your reach before Yuletide.”
“Madame?” Mistress Anne asked softly, the hesitation in her voice saying she wasn’t certain what response was expected of her.
“I, however, have more faith in you, lass,” Elizabeth went on, a touch of a smile lifting her thin lips. “I wagered against him, saying you’ll not only be capable of all the dances by July’s end, but be expert in the La Volta, as well.”
The queen turned her attention on Kit, her dark eyes afire with the need to best her favorite. “Have you the skill to accomplish this?” she asked, handing him the opportunity of a lifetime.
Although Kit had no hope of
ever trading on it, he couldn’t resist the chance of forever fixing his face in his monarch’s memory. “Fie on you, Madame,” he dared to tease. “You’re attempting to alter the conditions of the wager through this meeting.”
Elizabeth’s fine feathery brows lifted as she grinned. “Fie on you for pointing that out. Think on it as naught but a bit of a hedge.” The intensity returned to her dark gaze.
“In all truth even if I said nothing to you, I’d remain convinced our Mistress Anne can swiftly learn to dance. At the Maying I saw she owns the ability, but an apt pupil needs a clever teacher. Now, tell me true, can you do this?”
Kit glanced down at Mistress Anne. There was worry in her gaze. She feared what might happen to them were they to fail in this endeavor.
Bitter amusement filled him. That wasn’t where she needed to spend her worry. If he had his way with her, they’d both be gone from court before July’s advent. He looked back to his monarch.
“Madame, I think if we practice on a daily basis without interference from others, I’ll have her dancing the La Volta by July,” he lied.
Mistress Anne’s hand clenched on his arm, her nails digging through the fabric of his coat, doublet and into his shirt. Although no trace of it showed in her face, Kit read her grip with ease. She was furious with him.
Elizabeth’s grin was wide and pleased. “But of course it must be private. It wouldn’t do to have Leicester think I had any hand in this, now would it?”
With her words the queen doomed any appeal Old Amyas might make for Kit’s removal. More than that, she gave Kit reason to spend time closeted with his intended victim. Thoughts of failure in his quest for Nick’s title disintegrated.
“Madame,” Mistress Anne cried, almost dropping into a curtsy as she spoke, “will folk not think me forward for spending so much time alone with Master Hollier?”
The Lady Series Page 13
