Maddy looked at Ryder, then at the boy. He did not seem at all happy to see her. In fact, his small face had turned ashen, and big tears spilled from his eyes. When she knelt down, he came to her, placing his small hand on her bodice and stroking, a little bit like one might pet a dog. Then he did the same with her skirts. “What is it, Daniel?” Maddy asked. “Why are you crying?”
Ryder bent down and lifted the boy into his arms. “You are wearing his mother’s apparel. He remembers, aye, Daniel?” The child buried his face in Ryder’s chest. “And you bear a slight resemblance to Susan.”
The boy must have taken his coloring from his mother. Maddy reached out and rubbed the small back. “Pray forgive me, Daniel. I should have asked you if it was all right for me to wear your mother’s clothing. But you may recall—mine was dripping wet.” He looked up at her, and she thought the corners of his mouth curved up a tad. “All because your jackanapes of an uncle left me standing outside long enough for a mountain of snow to fall on my head!” Daniel laughed, a squeaky sound emitting from his chest. Maddy looked up at Ryder, who’d raised his eyebrows at her.
“Did you call me a jackanapes, mistress?”
“I’m afraid I did, sir.”
“How shall we punish her, Dan? Shall we tickle her? Spank her?” Daniel nodded his approval. Ryder was smiling broadly, and she was beginning to regret calling him such a name. They took a step toward her, and she pretended to cower.
His uncle set Daniel down and whispered something in his ear. The child scurried out of the room, and then there was silence between her and Ryder. To her shame, Maddy was still thinking about being tickled and spanked by him. He was waiting near the door, arms folded loosely across his chest and looking as if he dearly wanted to laugh. Maddy reclaimed the settle and fussed with her hair.
“He likes you.”
“Daniel? Do you think so? He is the sweetest child! Although it was very naughty of him to hide my basket.”
“If you could see him when he is having one of his childish tantrums, you would not think him so sweet.”
Maddy gave him a skeptical look. “I can’t credit it.”
Ryder shrugged. “He becomes frustrated. And then he loses his temper. But I admit it is a rare occurrence.”
An awkwardness ensued, until she finally worked up enough courage to say, “Would you mind if I asked you why he does not speak?” Just then, Daniel burst through the door carrying the basket, and her query went unanswered for the present.
“Off you go, brat,” Ryder said. She waved to the child as he left the room. His uncle, having retreated to his desk, was already unrolling the document and paying her no mind. After a few moments, he threw the missive down and she heard him say, “God’s teeth, the man is a reckless fool.”
“I could not make out the meaning. Is it a cipher?”
He rubbed at his beard with the back of his hand. “A very poor one, yes.”
“Will you not tell me what it means?” Maddy asked, turning up her palms.
“Trust me, it is better that you do not know, for your own protection.”
She puffed out an irritated breath. “If I am to be of help to you, shouldn’t I be aware of any intelligence that pertains to the Dacres? He seeks their assistance when he comes north. That much I understood. For all we know, he intends to lodge at the priory during his visit.”
A knock at the door. Margery stuck her head in and said, “The master will see you and Mistress Vernon now.”
Maddy looked from one to the other, confused. Who was “the master?”
Margery left, and she stared at Ryder, a question in her eyes.
“My father,” he said with a scowl. “Come. Let’s get this over with.”
He led her toward the front of the house, to a chamber near the entrance. Why would his father wish to meet her? Maddy had pictured him as an invalid. A doddering old man who needed his son to look after him. Ryder halted abruptly and rapped on the door.
“Come,” called an impatient voice.
They entered the room, a large, sunny space with windows on two sides. A sprawling table rested before one set of windows, and an older man—but certainly not doddering—stood to one side of it, poring over a map. More maps covered every available bit of wall. Their entrance did not distract him—he continued his perusal. At length his head bobbed up, and he studied Maddy. He was tall and well built, with shrewd, penetrating eyes. In his youth, he had probably been as handsome as his son. But no more. His countenance was severe, with a hard mouth and deep grooves between his brows.
“So this is our little spy,” he said derisively, obviously with the intent of intimidating her.
“Father, may I make you acquainted with Mistress Madeleine Vernon?” Ryder said. He glanced at her then. “This is my father, Francis Ryder.”
Not quite the man I envisioned. Maddy curtsied. “Good morrow, sir.”
“You did not mention that she was so bonny, Nicholas, but I should have guessed.”
Nicholas said nothing.
“My son tells me you’re providing him with valuable information.”
This seemed to require a response, so she said, “Yes, sir. I am doing what I was asked to do.”
He stepped out from behind the table. “What you were required to do, you mean. You are well aware of the consequences if you do not, I assume.”
His son intervened. “There is no need to threaten Mistress Vernon, Father. She has proved herself to be trustworthy and reliable and quite clever at figuring out what we need to know before I’ve even instructed her.”
“Joining up with Leonard Dacre wasn’t too clever, now was it? And she is sister to a traitor, although I suppose she could not help that.” He raised his brows, two dark slashes that reminded her of nothing so much as slugs.
Maddy knew his words were intended to get a rise out of her. He was enjoying her unease. But she also knew if she expressed her pent-up feelings, it could be dangerous for her, and possibly for Ryder. So she kept her temper in check and said, “You are correct on both counts, sir.”
He barked out a strident laugh, as if that were the last thing he expected her to say. “See that you take the utmost care not to give yourself away. If we are forced to remove you, things will not go well for you.”
“Father, she knows—”
Francis Ryder interrupted him. “No need to defend her again, Nick. Although now that I’ve seen the lass, I understand why you are always so eager to take her side. Just see you don’t fall too much under her spell.” Again, that harsh laugh, and then he said, “Now leave me. I’ve work to do.”
Ryder bowed, grasped Maddy’s arm, and the meeting was over. He hurried her through the flagged hall and only let go when they reached his study. She wheeled on him as soon as the door was shut. “Never before have you said your father was your…your employer. Pray enlighten me, sir.”
Chapter Twelve
Nicholas stood before Maddy, uncertain of what to say. How to explain. But first, an apology. “I do beg your pardon for his rudeness.” And then he led her to the settle, pushing her shoulders lightly so she would be seated. After tending the fire, he poured them each a cup of wine and sat down beside her.
His gaze on the flames, he began to talk. “As an agent of the queen here in the North, my father needed help. Because his work was covert, and decidedly against the interests of northerners, he was forced to depend on my brother and me from the time we were young lads. Before Richard died, I acted as Father’s secretary—writing missives, listening and taking notes on reports from various spies, arranging meetings, and the like. But after my brother’s death, Father expected me to assume Richard’s duties.” Folding his hands, he lowered them between his knees.
Maddy’s voice was soft. “And you did so?”
He glanced at her, then back to the flames. “I did as he ordered. Brought prisoners to him and watched many unfortunate souls beat senseless, sometimes even killed, for providing the wrong information, or none
at all. As you might guess, this work has increased ten-fold since the rebellion. I have never…taken to it.”
“Your father beats people to death before your eyes?” She couldn’t hide her disgust. He understood.
“No, of course not. He would not bloody his own hands unless he had no other choice. Richard was more like my father, always strangely fascinated with the whole bloody business. And now I am trapped and know not how to extricate myself.”
“Can you not simply tell him you no longer wish to do this work?”
“It is not that simple. I have Daniel to care for. I don’t own my own property or have any other home. And I do believe in their ends. What I am sick to death of is their murderous, conniving, deceitful means.”
“What exactly are their ends?”
“A unified England, ruled over by the queen in all her royal majesty, with no citizens questioning her God-given right to be our monarch.”
Maddy cast him a skeptical look. “You sound as though you are mocking the queen’s right to rule rather than defending it.”
“Forgive me, I’ve grown cynical. I strongly believe England should be ruled by an English monarch, the rightful queen, Elizabeth. It is the only way forward. The fact that the rebel earls looked to foreign powers for aid…can you imagine what chaos would ensue if Spain invaded? Propped up by the Pope?” He shifted his body so that he was looking directly at her. “But I am much aggrieved over the queen’s brand of justice. I did not like the executions of the rebels any more than you did.”
“Then you were telling the truth the day you brought me to Lanercost, that you lost friends in the rising?”
“Aye. Men from Brampton I’d known all my life.”
She seemed stunned. “So everything you’ve done regarding me, including forcing me to spy, was on your father’s orders?”
He faced her, his gaze steady. “Aye.”
“Against your conscience, against your morals, you still carried on because your father ordered you to?” She sprang up and set her cup of wine on the desk. “I must go.”
She had judged him and found him lacking.
He had to convince her to stay so he could explain further. Pushing to his feet, he said, “No. It’s early yet, you haven’t eaten. And I’m sure you have more to tell me.”
“I’ve lost my appetite. And I have told you everything.”
Nicholas stepped closer to her. “You said there was more about Vine.”
“Nothing significant.” She reached for her basket. “Would you summon Margery and ask if my clothing is dry? I will need my cloak.”
“Pray, Madeleine, do not run away from me.” He placed a hand on her arm, keeping his touch gentle. “Sit down and give me leave to explain.”
Maddy searched his face, and he sensed the exact moment she relented. Her lovely eyes softened, and his heart galloped. For whatever reason, she’d decided he deserved a hearing, and he was grateful for it. For her trust. She set the basket down and returned to the settle. “I am all ears.”
He gave a brisk nod and continued his tale. “I had made up my mind to leave the queen’s business, as soon as the work relating to the rising was at an end. The executions, you see, were beyond what I could tolerate. And when I was at my lowest, wondering how I would endure, you came into my world and threw me off balance.”
She shook her head. “I did?”
“I expected you to be a hardened wench. A woman in battle would by necessity be rough around the edges, would she not? Instead, you were brave and strong and…brave.” He’d meant to say “captivating,” but thought better of it. When he stole a glance at her, her cheeks bloomed with color.
“Why did you keep on with it, then? Why were you cruel to me?”
“Because it would have been the end for you if I had not!” He’d been standing, but now crouched down before her. “Don’t you see? What reason could I have invented for letting you go? It had already been decided that you were the one to be placed at the priory. I was merely making certain the correct decision had been made.”
“How did they even know of me?”
He sighed, got to his feet, and put some distance between them. “I was your captor. At the battle, I was one of the men who—”
“You! Now I remember. Your hair, your beard. They were shorter, as they are now. That is why I thought earlier I had seen you somewhere before this nightmare began.”
Wincing, he said, “Yes.”
“After you questioned me, you could have said I wasn’t suitable. Had you wanted to, you might have invented a plausible reason for letting me go.”
“They were never going to let you go, Madeleine. Do you think they would have sent you home with a pat on the head? No, I fear they would have gotten rid of you, not at the block or the gibbet, but by taking you out of your cell and slitting your throat, then throwing your body into the Eden. No one would have inquired too closely.”
She shook her head as if to clear it. “But why?”
His father would rage if he found out what Nicholas was revealing. But, for the first time in years, he cared deeply about something. Someone. He would not hold back, his father be damned. “Why would they let you live unless you could serve some purpose? You were a traitor in their eyes. After executing hundreds, do you think they would have balked at one more? So I did what I could. I made sure your cell had fresh straw, that you had food and drink. I tried to make you comfortable, and as soon as I could, I removed you, to get you ready for this mission.”
“But you were so cold to me. I thought you hated me.”
“Quite the contrary.” He would love to take her in his arms, but he knew she would not countenance it. Instead, he reached out and traced a finger down her face. Her skin was soft as a rose petal. Nicholas wished they had the time, the freedom, to explore what they might mean to each other and follow where that would lead. Maddy held still, her eyes closed. Until suddenly she seemed to realize what was happening. Her eyes snapped open and she drew away.
“What do we do now?”
Grasping her hands, he said, “We finish this. We work out what is going on at the priory—and rest assured, something is—and then we’re done with it.”
Her expression guarded, Maddy tugged her hands from his grasp. “And will your father let me live? Let me go home?”
“He would not go against me, provided our work is fruitful.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“It will be. It already has been. Father will be very satisfied when he sees the contents of Norfolk’s letter.”
“There is no escape for me, is there? You, at least, will have a choice.” He heard the resentment in her voice, understood what she must be thinking. Maddy had sacrificed her own freedom to avenge her brother’s death, and it had gained her nothing. In her mind, her future looked grim. He couldn’t argue; there was no escape for her at present. “I truly must take my leave now. The sun is low.”
Sighing, Nicholas rose and summoned Margery to bring Maddy’s clothing, but she returned without it. “Mistress, your things are still damp. Especially your cloak.”
“Is there a traveling cloak of Susan’s she could wear?” Nicholas asked.
“I’ll get it.” Margery returned shortly with the cloak and a package tied with a string. “Your clothing, mistress.” Maddy retrieved her basket and tucked the package inside.
Out front, a groom led two horses toward them. The palfrey Maddy was riding and his own sleek gelding, Raven. “I am accompanying you,” Nicholas told her. “Arguing with me will be a waste of breath.” A servant handed him cloak, gloves, and hat, and soon they were both mounted. The groom secured her basket to the side of the horse, and they walked together toward the road. They had not gone far before Nicholas heard a sudden commotion and smiled. It would be Daniel. He should have allowed the lad to say farewell to Maddy, but given the fraught discussion they’d been having, he’d forgotten. They reined in the horses.
The boy was running toward them, his shor
t legs pumping.
Nicholas glanced at her. “Stay put.” He dismounted and gathered Daniel into his arms. “Do not cry, Sir Mouse,” he said. “You must be a brave knight if you want Mistress Madeleine to pay attention to you.” Nicholas settled the boy in Maddy’s lap, then steadied her mount.
“You are a brave and fearless knight,” she said. “I could tell that as soon as I met you, Master Daniel. Or should I call you ‘Sir Mouse’?” Daniel smiled, burrowed against Maddy’s breast, and then kissed her cheek. Nicholas looked on, musing. After Maddy had kissed the child, Nicholas lifted him down and into Margery’s grasp.
“Fare thee well until next time,” Maddy called after him, waving. Nicholas marveled over how loving she was with Daniel. There was nothing false about her dealings with him.
As they set out once again, Nicholas said, “It had not occurred to me last time that you probably remind him of Susan.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Do you still wish me to tell you why he does not talk?”
“Yes, if you will.” Her anger seemed to have dissolved. As Nicholas knew from personal experience, it was difficult to sustain an ill humor after a hug and kiss from Daniel.
They clip-clopped along companionably, and at length Nicholas began his tale. “Susan, Daniel’s mother, died in childbirth a few years ago, along with her baby. A sister for the lad, had she lived. And then my brother, Richard, was killed last year, on the queen’s work.”
“How sad,” Maddy said.
“Aye. After the boy’s mother died, he seemed to shrink into himself. At four years old, he’d already possessed a prodigious vocabulary. He continued to talk, although not so much as before. He was altogether more subdued. And then after Richard died, he spoke less and less, until I realized one day he’d stopped speaking altogether.”
“Is there anything to be done?”
“Not according to the physician we consulted. He believes, with time, Daniel will find his voice.”
“It must isolate him from other children.”
“Not as much as you might think,” Nicholas said. “There aren’t many children about. But he sees them at church, at the market, and on holy days. The other boys seem happy enough to include him in their play.”
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