She shook herself awake. “By the time Edith has gotten me ready for my bed, I shall be wide-awake.” Maddy helped her up, but when she offered further assistance, Lady Dacre waved her off. After she’d returned books to shelves, put her sewing away, and snuffed the candles, she set off for her chamber.
As soon as she entered the room, she smelled him. He had a habit of keeping a few cloves under his bottom lip to sweeten his breath, and the scent was unmistakable. Maddy froze, and he grabbed her from behind, blocking any attempt to escape. “Do not scream, or I shall make this rather more unpleasant for you than it might be. I think you liked it when I bedded you before. I remember your cries of ecstasy.”
Cries of pain. They were cries of pain. She felt a cold blade of steel pressed against her breast.
“You took Cath away from me. She was mine. So I’ll have you instead.” His words were slurred, and she realized he was drunk as a thrush.
Cath must have shared their conversation with one of the kitchen maids. “She was afraid of you.” He tightened his grip on Maddy, so that the last few words, forced out, sounded loud and unnatural. Gasping for air, she tried to wrest herself from his hold, but he was far too strong, even in his inebriated state. He dragged her toward the bed. She resisted with every bit of strength she could muster. When that did not work, Maddy turned herself into a dead weight. He cursed, then simply picked her up. He threw her face down onto the bed and lifted her skirts. She heard the clatter of his knife as it fell to the floor and the drunken fumbling with his hose.
Rage possessed her, and for a moment, a darkness blotted out her vision. She remembered—her dirk was under the pillow. Each morning she straightened her own bedclothes and saw no reason to hide it. If she could reach it, she might have a chance to fend him off. Maddy scooted toward the head of the bed, but Musgrave did not notice because he was too busy finding his member. She slid her hand under the pillow and grasped the dirk just as she felt his fingers crawling up her legs.
Maddy exploded off the mattress, clutching the weapon in her hand and emitting a primal scream, low and guttural. The surprise of it was his undoing. He had expected her to be compliant, to accept rape as her due for depriving him of Cath. Before he could reach for it, she kicked his knife across the floor. Holding the dirk with both hands, she said, “Get out, or I’ll sink this into your belly.” His male organ hung limp, and she doubted it would have served him well.
Under normal circumstances, Musgrave would have seized the dirk as fast as the brawny soldier had during the battle. But he was too far into his cups. Maddy’s voice shook. “Go. Get out. If you so much as look sideways at me, I’ll tell Lady Dacre about Cath. And that you tried to rape me.”
Backing up, he tucked himself in and nearly fell over backward. He choked out a harsh laugh. “If you do, I’ll tell her I’ve already bedded you. And there is the small matter of your brother.”
“Leave. Now.”
“This is not over, Madeleine.” He stumbled out the door.
She dashed over and peered down the passage, watching him until he turned toward the stairs. Then she closed the door firmly.
Despite trembling and gasping for breath, Maddy dragged her small trunk over and shoved it hard against the door. It wouldn’t be enough to stop Musgrave, but at least she would be warned of his approach. She undressed quickly, washed her face and hands, and climbed into bed. Sleep would be her enemy tonight. She would fight it off as long as she could.
She heard a sound from behind the wardrobe in the far corner of the room. Useless emerged and toddled over to the bed. In her terror, she’d forgotten all about the wee creature. She patted the mattress and the dog sprang up beside her. “You are not much of a protector, little one.” In truth, Maddy was glad Useless had stayed hidden. In his rage, Musgrave might have harmed her.
Instead of blowing out the candle, she let it burn down, until her eyelids finally grew heavy and she dropped off into a troubled sleep, the dirk still clutched in her hand.
Chapter Eight
Market day was fast approaching, and Maddy was still undecided as to how much to tell Nicholas Ryder about Musgrave. Or indeed if she should tell him anything. If he knew about the man, it would complicate their dealings. He may think she was not up to the task of handling an additional person who might be at Lanercost for his own nefarious reasons. And to be honest, she did not want Ryder to know of her past relationship with Musgrave, did not want to be forced to explain it. She was ashamed.
The weather also concerned her. It was still bitterly cold, and she dreaded going on foot to Brampton. To her surprise, at supper the night before market day, Lady Dacre offered her a priory mount to ride. “It is too cold to walk,” she said. “You must ride one of our horses.”
“Thank you, madam. That is most kind of you.”
Sipping her wine, she nodded in acknowledgment. “Christopher, it is time we visited the tenants. And we must stop at Naworth afterward to check on matters there.”
Musgrave, whom Maddy had managed to avoid other than at meals, looked up at that. Apparently, he was as surprised as she was to hear the lady talk about this in their presence. Christopher said, by way of explanation, “Naworth Castle is the home of the Catholic Dacres. Our cousin Leonard resided there until his late, unfortunate participation in the raid at Hell Beck. Now we don’t know where he resides.” He barked a cynical laugh, earsplitting in the small chamber.
Lady Dacre glared at him, and he was silent. They finished the meal talking of nothing more important than the weather, a horse that had gone lame, and the repairs to the roof of one of the outbuildings. Maddy looked up once to find Musgrave’s steely gaze upon her. Would he follow her tomorrow? Set upon her on a lonely stretch of road? If so, he could easily overpower her.
If he revealed the truth about her and her brother, Lady Dacre would have no choice but to cast her out of the priory. And then she would be forced to throw herself on Nicholas Ryder’s mercy.
…
When Madeleine Vernon arrived for her first visit, around midday, Nicholas and his nephew were dashing about the hall swinging wooden sticks at each other. Nicholas glimpsed her out of the corner of one eye. “Touché, Sir Mouse! You have me.” There was a moment’s silence, and a servant announced her.
“Sir, Mistress Vernon is here to see you.” Only then did Nicholas turn toward her.
“That is enough swordplay for now,” he said to Daniel. The lass appeared stiff and restrained. If he did not do something to ease her discomfort, they would accomplish little this day. He approached, bowed, and said, “Well met, Mistress Vernon.”
“Sir,” she said, curtsying.
His nephew stepped forward and Nicholas placed a hand on his shoulder. “Make your bow, Daniel.”
Solemnly, he did so, and to Nicholas’s surprise, Mistress Vernon bent down and held out her hand. “How now, Master Daniel? I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such a fine swordsman.” He grasped her hand, a big smile breaking out, and nodded.
Nicholas failed to hold back his own grin. So his ward was not immune to the charms of a pretty lass. “Now run and find Margery.” When Daniel hesitated, his uncle grasped him gently by the shoulders and turned him around, pointing him in the right direction. He watched the boy walk away. “My nephew. He is my ward.” He made no further explanation, as it was none of her concern.
He led the lass to a small chamber off one end of the hall, his personal domain. It was neither drawing room nor study, but a bit of each. A fire was burning in the hearth, and Nicholas motioned her to a settle placed in front of it. After removing her cloak, she moved to the hearth to warm herself. A small oak writing table sat at an angle to the settle, and he situated himself there after gathering papers, quill, and ink jar.
“Do be seated, mistress. What news do you have for me?” He dipped his quill into the ink jar and waited, his gaze on his papers rather than on her.
Silence.
He raised his head at length and was s
hocked to see that she looked stricken. Almost pained. God’s breath, it should not fall to him to lift her spirits. He softened his voice. “Pray, sit down, mistress.” Perhaps matters at the priory were not progressing as he’d hoped. “Is something amiss? Are you having difficulties with your assignment?”
She stared at him for a moment, the pained look waning. “No. Where should I begin?”
“Anywhere. But leave nothing out. I need not only facts but impressions as well.”
Seated now, she paused to collect her thoughts. “Lady Dacre. She’s a bit of an enigma. She seems highly intelligent, yet she does not read or write. She understands the complex legal problems surrounding her stepson’s suit and dictates letters regarding these with nary a pause for breath.”
Nicholas interrupted. “Do you think the suit has any bearing on…what we are concerned with?”
“It is too soon to know. I’ve learned the matter has caused some awkwardness between Christopher Dacre and his brother, William. That is why she needed somebody else to help with her correspondence.”
He nodded. “Tell me how you pass the days.”
She related her daily routine to him. It sounded as if the Dacre woman was a creature of habit. “Unfortunately, my chamber is in the tower rather than the vicarage. Another complication is that Lady Dacre never ventures out, or at least she has not during this cold spell. The men are frequently gone. If only they would all be away at the same time.”
“Is that likely to happen?”
“She told her son recently that they must visit Naworth Castle. I assume they mean to take what they can haul away before it is all confiscated. I was surprised that she mentioned this in my presence—and Thomas Vine’s as well.”
“And I am surprised the queen’s agents have not been there already. What do you make of Dacre?”
Mistress Vernon raised her hands, palms up, in a timeless gesture of perplexity. “He is always courteous to me. My first day there, he escorted me around the property and gave me a proper tour. He knows much about the history of the place. When I had an opening, I told him it was my impression that he and his stepmother did not approve of the recent rebellion.”
“And?”
“He was vague and evasive. He said something about northerners liking to keep their own counsel, and that there were certain practices and laws that did not suit them. And then, unfortunately, we arrived at the forge, and I could probe no further. He introduced me to the smith, and that was the end of that.”
“Hmm.” On the whole, disappointing, even though it was what he’d expected in the first week. He set his quill down and was surprised when she spoke.
“A moment, sir. I am not finished.”
He waved a hand. “Forgive me. Continue.”
“Two things. One you may already know. I overheard snatches of a private conversation between Vine and Christopher Dacre. Vine’s voice was raised, and he said something like, ‘The Scots could capture and kill you.’ Dacre then said they needed a leader, one of the earls, and Ferniehurst was sheltering him. I think the earl he was referring to must be Westmoreland. It sounded like Dacre was forming a plan to bring the earl back.” She broke off for a moment, then said, “Perhaps ‘plan’ is too strong a word. When I heard steps approaching the door, I made a hasty departure.”
“We knew of Westmoreland’s whereabouts. But this is more specific evidence that they are hoping to regroup and reignite the citizens to rise again. We suspected as much. And Dacre is involved in that somehow. Well done, mistress.” He jotted a note on a piece of foolscap and glanced up at her. Her face was flushed with pleasure, enhancing her natural beauty. Had his compliment pleased her so much? At least that pained look had not returned.
“Perhaps he’s only sympathetic to their cause. He seems so mild mannered and harmless.”
“Make no assumptions about any of them, and above all, do not trust them. Report everything and let us decide what is significant.” He knew he sounded like a stern schoolmaster, but to protect herself and safeguard the mission, she must remain vigilant.
She nodded. “What’s in it for the Scots? Why do they benefit from conspiring in this? Elizabeth isn’t their queen.”
“But Mary Stewart is. Or was. The Scots over the border share mutual goals with our English rebels.”
“They want to restore Mary to the Scottish throne?”
He nodded. “Aye. But it goes further than that. They want her cleared of her first husband’s murder. Some would see her wed to the Duke of Norfolk.”
“And I suppose they would love to return to the old religion.”
“Of course. What they desire most, however, is to have Mary named as Elizabeth’s successor.”
A soft knock sounded, and a servant carrying a tray entered. She set it down on the desk and withdrew. “I thought you might like some spiced wine and a small meal,” Nicholas said.
Madeleine’s smile lit up her face, and a cold place within him warmed. “Indeed, I would. It is most kind of you.” He handed her a pewter cup and she drank deeply.
He waited until she’d set her tankard down. “What of Master Vine? Have you learned anything useful about him?”
She pushed a lock of hair back, away from her face. That single gesture entranced him, drawing attention, as it did, to the delicate bones of her face and her lovely eyes. Hold, man. This is a business meeting.
Her eyes darted to a spot behind his shoulder. Odd, since she’d been facing him squarely throughout her reporting. “No. He appears to be Dacre’s friend, but he goes off by himself for long periods. Other than the one conversation I happened to overhear, I am not aware of them plotting or planning anything. No sudden breaking off a conversation when I walk into the room, no huddled conferring. At least not in my presence.”
“I still think he is lying about being from London.”
“Aye. I don’t trust him. He…I was forced to step in and help the servant girl I told you about.”
“What was the outcome?” Nicholas busied himself laying out the food while she finished the story. Cheese tarts, apples and pears, and a whole salmon. He handed her a trencher with a generous portion of everything, then resumed his seat and watched her.
“The cook assigned the girl other duties.” Another flickering of her eyes. She was either lying or giving him partial truths.
“You’re not telling me everything. What are you leaving out?”
Now she looked directly at him. “He was quite angry with me. Somebody informed him of my involvement.”
“Madeleine. Do not make me beg for information. Vine’s actions could be important. I cannot believe he let the matter lie without seeking revenge on you.”
A rosy color bloomed on her cheeks. Was it because he’d called her by her Christian name or because the subject was embarrassing?
“He threatened me, told me to keep out of his business.”
Ryder sighed. “Precisely what was the threat?”
In an irritated voice she said, “Since I prevented him from having Cath, the servant girl, he thought he might have me instead.”
There was silence while Nicholas took this in. She should not have to worry about that cur’s unwelcome advances. The situation was dangerous and could ultimately compromise their goals. But why was she irritated with him? He rubbed his beard and sprang to his feet. “I mistrusted him from the first. What did you do?”
“I told him he wouldn’t dare, that I’d tell Lady Dacre.”
“That’s not enough to stop a man like him.” He stood now with his hands on his hips, looking at her in frustration. “Perhaps I should intervene.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Pray do not, sir. How would it look if, at the first possible opportunity, I ran off to you and told tales on them? Because he is a guest in their household, it would shame them. Even anger them. I can deal with Master Vine on my own.”
She was mistaken about that. “Can you? You, a wee lass, and he a behemoth?”
A smile t
ugged at her lovely mouth. “I would not exactly call him that. He is a large man, but I have my dirk. I sleep with it under my pillow. Besides, I am just beginning to find information that may be useful to you. Do you wish to give up on that so soon?”
“You haven’t revealed much that persuades me your services there are required. We could find some other way.”
“Oh, by God’s light, pray sit down and calm yourself. Drink. Eat. I have more to tell you, but let us refresh ourselves first.”
…
He looked taken aback that she had spoken to him in such a way. Indeed, Maddy shocked herself. Never had she been so bold with him. How would he react? To her surprise, he abruptly sat and shoved a piece of salmon into his mouth, washing it down with a long draught of wine. “Sit here.” He motioned to her to share the small table with him. She did so but would have preferred to hold her trencher on her lap and keep a safe distance from him.
Her status had risen; she was allowed a knife. She cut into the cheese tart, breathing in the heady aroma. Whatever wine had been used in the recipe smelled of quince and something earthy. “I haven’t thanked you for returning my dagger. I feel safer with it.”
He grunted. “Vine could wrest it away from you before you even had a chance to wield it.”
Not when he’s three sheets in the wind.
She shrugged. “Maybe.” They ate in silence for a time. When she’d had her fill, Maddy laid the knife across the trencher and said, “One day while I was assisting Lady Dacre with her correspondence, I accidentally found a letter from the Duke of Norfolk. I had only a moment to look upon it, because she recognized what it was and screamed at me to put it down. She dismissed me immediately and warned me never to look at any documents again without her permission.”
Ryder had gone quite still. He finished chewing and set down his own knife. “Were you able to discern the subject of the letter?”
“No. As I said, I merely glanced at it before Lady Dacre realized what I was looking at.”
Mistress Spy Page 8
