Mistress Spy

by Mingle, Pamela

  “You are very good with Daniel.”

  He was shocked—and ridiculously pleased—that she would pay him such a compliment. “Am I? He trails after me everywhere I go. I believe he fears I might disappear one day, as both his parents did.”

  “In a child that age, it seems like a logical conclusion. Sir Mouse seems to look upon you as a father.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Only natural, I suppose. I enjoy playing with him. My father believes I overindulge the boy, but as you’ve observed, he is an easy child to love.”

  “That he is. How fortunate he has you as his guardian.”

  Embarrassed, Nicholas shrugged off her praise. “I hope you will judge me more by my treatment of Daniel than by—”

  “The way you’ve dealt with me?” She met his probing gaze, but she did not yield. She might believe in his devotion to Daniel, but theirs was a completely different kind of relationship. Though earlier he’d sensed she was ready to trust him, he’d obviously been mistaken.

  To break the awkwardness, he said, “Now will you give me the rest of your information?”

  “Back to the spy business? Truly, there is not much to impart.” She related her difficulties with Norfolk’s letter. “I stepped behind Lady Dacre’s privacy screen while I was looking for the coffer and discovered she has a prie-dieu and a religious tapestry. From the look of it, it might have hung in a monastery at one time. That surprised me.”

  “Probably from the abbey at Lanercost. The Dacres at the priory are supposed to be Protestant, but many who have pledged themselves to the reformed religion secretly keep to the old faith, as you well know.”

  “Thomas Vine sneaked into the bedchamber just as I had locked the letter back in the coffer. He gave me such a fright, I nearly screamed.”

  “Sweet Mother of Christ. What did you do?”

  “I acted as if I belonged there and challenged him on what right he had to be in Lady Dacre’s chamber. He claimed he heard ‘someone skulking about,’ which was utter nonsense. In the passage, after we left the room, I commented on the fact that he’d made himself scarce for the earl’s visit. I realized my mistake immediately. He is not a man to needle. He slammed me against the wall and asked me what I knew.”

  Nicholas reined in his horse. “He hurt you? Damn the man! Do not bait him, I beg you. Obviously, he has something to hide and fears you’ve found him out.”

  “I told him I had no idea what he was talking about, and he seemed to believe me.”

  “I do not want you to risk your personal safety, Madeleine. Swear to me you will not.”

  She had slowed her mount to a stop and looked at him incredulously. “Sir, that is an extraordinary demand, since you have placed me in a situation which, by its very nature, puts me at risk.” When he did not speak, she said, “You need not look as if you are beseeching God to save you from womankind.”

  “And you need not make things worse by goading him.”

  They sat there glaring at each other, until finally she spoke. “Very well. I will attempt to refrain from engaging in unnecessarily provoking behavior.”

  Nicholas nodded curtly. That would have to suffice for now. “We must speed up; the hour grows late.”

  For the rest of the journey, they moved at a fast clip, only slowing the horses to cross the bridge. The river churned beneath them, full of spring run-off. The water swept on toward its eventual joining with the Eden, strong and sure of itself. Nature had such strength of purpose.

  Nicholas rode with Maddy until the priory gatehouse was in sight. “Probably better that I’m not seen. Next time, pray ask Lady Dacre for a groom to accompany you, or I shall ask her myself.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  Afternoon had given way to evening. Nicholas maneuvered his horse close to her. In the silver-gray light, he could barely make out her features. “Leave off calling me ‘sir,’ Madeleine. I think you know my name.” And then, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, allowing his lips to linger long enough for her to know this was not an avuncular buss. “God keep you.”

  Maddy was nearly to the gatehouse before she turned and looked at him. The light was disappearing, the sky now deep cobalt and violet, with a small crescent moon showing. He watched until she rode under the archway. She did not look back again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the morning, Maddy gave her mistress the silks she had purchased for her at the market. She set about sorting them right away, and once again Maddy marveled at how neatly she kept her embroidery supplies. Compared to the state of her bedchamber…Maddy had no doubt that Lady Dacre slept some nights with papers on her bed, probably flying onto the floor when she shifted in her sleep. It occurred to Maddy that the lady’s papers most likely were so disorganized because she could not read them.

  She asked Maddy to read out loud some of the old Bible stories, beginning with Moses and the tablets. Since these were so familiar, her mind was free to explore her own muddled thoughts. Thoughts that turned to one Nicholas Ryder unless she exercised a high degree of self-control. Since parting from him yesterday evening, she’d not been too successful.

  He likes me. The entire time he had let me rot in a cell, dirty, hungry, and frightened, he had liked me. His father’s snide remarks made sense now.

  And so she was left to wonder about her own feelings for him.

  In the last few weeks, she’d discovered that he was capable of great tenderness, kindness, and patience. That he adored his young nephew and was doing all within his grasp to nurture the boy. Ryder could laugh, even at himself, and was willing to suffer her teasing.

  And then there was the matter of that sweet, lingering kiss he’d given her. Reluctantly, she acknowledged to herself she would welcome more from him. Much more.

  But he was her captor. Her jailer, the man who controlled her fate. Most likely any liaison with her would be strictly forbidden by the queen, by William Cecil. Even, perhaps, by his father. Ryder had snatched her from the battlefield, held her prisoner, and questioned her, sometimes harshly. And ultimately, he had forced her to spy for him. Whether he was doing this at his father’s behest made little difference. Maddy’s freedom had been stolen from her.

  How can I care for such a man?

  He had asked that she judge him not by his dealings with her but by the way he treated Daniel. She didn’t think that was possible. It may be conceivable to look kindlier on a foe if moderating qualities came to light, but was it realistic to believe she could ignore everything else?

  In truth, she did not know Nicholas Ryder’s true nature. He had been one man at Carlisle Castle, when she’d been his prisoner, and a completely different one now. Which of these men represented his real character? He seemed desperate to be finished with the spy business, and yet he was bound by his duty to the queen. What might he be willing to do to achieve his goal? Might she end up as his sacrificial lamb? He implied that he would save her, that his father would not go against him, but she wasn’t sure she believed that. In the end, when her usefulness had run its course, what then? Ryder could not guarantee she would escape with her life.

  “Madeleine?”

  Through a haze, Maddy heard Lady Dacre’s voice calling her name. Startled, she jerked her head up.

  “Madam?”

  “You stopped reading. Is something amiss?”

  “Not at all, my lady. Pray forgive me. My mind wandered for a moment.”

  Lady Dacre’s brows knitted. “You look a bit drawn today. Return to your bedchamber and rest until dinner.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say, my dear. You will feel the better for it.”

  “You are too kind.” After gathering her things, Maddy left before Lady Dacre had a change of heart. Once in her chamber, she cuddled up on the bed with Useless, her wayward thoughts tangling in her brain until, exhausted, she fell into a sound sleep.

  …

  “What news from Carlisle, Master Vine?” Lady Dacre asked.


  They were at table, the four of them. The smell of fresh pastries wafting up the stairs had awakened Maddy, and she’d hastily washed her face and hands, donning a finer bodice before hurrying to the small dining chamber.

  Musgrave did not answer immediately, as he was chewing a large piece of mutton he’d just sliced. He then swallowed a draught of ale to wash it down and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “A rumor is about that the Scots queen is to return to Carlisle Castle.”

  Was she mistaken, or had the Dacres exchanged furtive glances? It happened so quickly, Maddy could not be sure. Lady Dacre tore off a piece of brown bread before her next question, as though she needed the time to think.

  “Why would they be moving her again? Was she not lately removed to Tutbury?”

  “Word is, the purpose is to visit her son. His keepers are going to bring him to the castle.”

  “Has a new regent been appointed, then?” Lady Dacre asked. “I cannot imagine Queen Elizabeth would allow such a visit until there was a regent.” After pausing, she added, “If at all.”

  “Were I the queen, I would not let her within a mile of her son,” Musgrave said.

  “And why is that?” Dacre asked him.

  Musgrave snorted. “Her child is, after all, the king of Scotland. Mary is a Jezebel, a slattern. The Earl of Bothwell bedded her before Lord Darnley was in his grave. She was big with the earl’s child when she was taken prisoner in Scotland.”

  Lady Dacre spoke sharply. “Master Vine, unless you were present, or privy to information very few people have access to, I doubt you can know that.” Her clipped words gave away her irritation, bordering on anger, with Musgrave. “And I would ask that you speak more decorously.” She nodded toward Maddy. “We have a maid present.”

  Musgrave cast her a mocking glance, though he spoke to Lady Dacre. “Forgive me, madam. I was carried away.” Only he could know she was no maid, although he may have shared that information with Christopher Dacre on one of their evenings at the alehouse.

  Dacre spoke. “Mary Stewart has not proven herself to be trustworthy. Instead of putting Scotland first, she places her personal dilemmas ahead of all else. She has been involved in scandal after scandal, finally spelling disaster for herself.” He threw down his knife, obviously disgusted.

  Most interesting. Where did Christopher Dacre’s loyalties truly lie?

  “I am well aware of her faults. But she has long been handled by men, from the Duke of Guise to Bothwell. Who can blame her for her mistakes when she is being pulled in different directions by her so-called councilors?”

  “You will ever defend her, madam,” Dacre said. “Ever since she gave you the gold chain you wear.”

  Lady Dacre’s hand flew to her neck and she fingered the chain. A gift from Mary Stewart! Maddy blurted out a question before considering the wisdom of it. “How did she come to give you a necklace?”

  Lady Dacre answered readily enough. “I traveled to Scotland several years past for my nephew’s wedding. I was introduced to her on that occasion, and we struck up a friendship of sorts. We had certain things in common, you see. Before I departed, she made me a gift of the chain, which I thought exceedingly generous.”

  What could they possibly have had in common? Maddy knew little about Lady Dacre’s history. Perhaps one day when they were alone, she would elaborate on the story, but this would not be a good time to ask. Dare she probe a bit, though, since they were talking about the erstwhile queen of Scotland? Ryder asked her to inform him if she heard anything about the Duke of Norfolk. Maybe the duke’s letter had something to do with Mary. Mayhap she was the “thistle” he longed to see.

  “If she is freed eventually, do you think she will marry again?” Maddy asked.

  After a snort from Musgrave, an unsettling silence fell. Lady Dacre set her knife down and carefully wiped her hands on a napkin. Christopher Dacre was studying Maddy, one hand absentmindedly circling the rim of his tankard. Musgrave was the only one who continued to eat.

  “She may never be free again,” Lady Dacre finally said. “We can’t know.” Then she rose from the table. “Finish your meal, Madeleine. I shall be in the drawing room.” Nobody spoke as she exited the room.

  Maddy did not care for the idea of sitting alone with the two men but was loath to let that show. So she helped herself to a sugar cake—her favorite sweet—and popped a piece of it into her mouth. Closing her eyes, Maddy sighed deeply, savoring the rich, buttery sweet flavor. When she opened them, she found both men staring at her, Musgrave with a distinctly salacious grin. Her face burned with embarrassment. Fortunately, Dacre laughed. “You looked as though the myriads of angels were carrying you to heaven, mistress.”

  Maddy smiled, relieved that his thoughts hadn’t been going in the same direction as Musgrave’s. “You must sample one of these if you have not. They taste as if angels made them.”

  “Maybe the Scots queen will wed the Duke of Norfolk,” Musgrave said, dredging up a subject she thought they’d dispensed with.

  Dacre shot him a quelling look. “Since they are both locked up at present, that is an odd bit of speculation.”

  Musgrave bristled. “They are both power hungry, are they not? I do not find the idea so farfetched, that they will gain their freedom someday and make an alliance.”

  “Keep your offensive statements to yourself, Vine. Don’t subject us to them.” Dacre shoved his chair back roughly and got to his feet. After a curt bow in Maddy’s direction, he departed. Was this an act for her benefit? Indeed, what Musgrave suggested was exactly what the rebels in the north wanted.

  Now Maddy was alone with Musgrave, who wasted no time in carrying on with his opinions. “Why do they defend that whore? Because they’re secret Catholics. Why else?”

  “Why should you care?” she asked, forgetting her promise to Ryder to tread carefully with Musgrave.

  He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his lips quirked. She knew what was coming. “You, a maid. That’s a fine joke.”

  Maddy could not stop herself from glancing around to make sure nobody else was about. Otherwise, she ignored his slur. “I’ve been wondering, Master Musgrave, what your true purpose is here at the priory. How a murderous brute such as you ingratiated yourself with Christopher Dacre, and, more to the point, why?”

  His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Haven’t I warned you to keep out of my affairs?”

  His fingers pressed the soft flesh of her forearm, at first almost like a lover’s caress. Slowly, gradually, he increased the pressure. She should cease her goading. But Maddy could not seem to stop herself, despite Ryder’s admonition being fresh in her mind, despite her own common sense. She cocked her head at him. “Hmm. Are you hoping to profit in some way from your knowledge of their affairs? Is that it?”

  The pressure grew stronger, until she could no longer feel her hand and fingers. A blind rage possessed her; a thick fog seemed to obscure her mind. She was weary of being ruled by men. Her knife was within easy reach, and she snatched it and aimed it toward his hand. “Let go of me. Now. You know I’m not afraid to use this.”

  Time stopped. She continued to clutch the knife, her hand shaking. Musgrave could easily have cuffed her with his other hand, but perhaps he was afraid she could stab him faster than he could raise his hand to strike her. She must have looked maniacal. He dropped her wrist.

  It was the second time she’d nearly stabbed the man.

  Rising, he smirked at her, then very indifferently walked out of the room. Maddy recalled his threat, that he could kill her and nobody would care. He was probably correct in that, even though she had insisted her friends would make inquiries. Would Lady Dacre even care enough to look for her if she simply disappeared? Would Nicholas Ryder? He would know who was responsible.

  …

  Sometime during the night, a messenger arrived, rousing Nicholas from his slumber. Since his father did not summon him, he assumed it was nothing urgent and attempted to go bac
k to sleep, but it was no use. His mind would not settle; he kept wondering if the news the man carried had anything to do with Madeleine.

  He lay in his bed and imagined her there with him, naked, that glorious hair spread out over his pillow. Over him. He recalled the softness of her skin when his lips had touched her cheek; the little gasp she’d uttered; the fresh, womanly scent of her. His cock was now on full alert.

  God’s teeth, he needed a woman. It had been too long. But he hadn’t any time lately for such pursuits. Between Daniel and his work, he was lucky to tumble into bed for a few hours of sleep each night, never mind a wench there with him for sport. And right now, he did not believe any other woman but Maddy would satisfy him.

  God’s wounds, what is the matter with me? As long as he was in thrall to the queen and his father, he couldn’t have her.

  After a time, Nicholas rose. It was not yet dawn. Shivering in the frigid air, he washed and dressed, then found his parent in his lair. He was not alone.

  “Enter, Nick. We have news from London.” A man they’d dealt with many times in the past was sitting across the table. They knew him only as Roger, and he was a burly, oafish-looking fellow. But Nicholas had discovered his looks hid a keen intelligence.

  “What have you to report?” he asked.

  Roger spoke in an accent that belied his appearance. Nicholas had always wondered if he was from a noble family. “Your Thomas Vine is one John Musgrave. He is at the priory on Cecil’s business.”

  Nicholas listened closely while the messenger summarized what was known of Musgrave. The man was an outlaw, well known to the authorities in the north. He’d been brought to Cecil’s attention as somebody who might be willing to work for both sides.

  “A double agent?” Nicholas said. “He is spying on the Dacres while also feeding them selected bits of information regarding the queen’s business?”

  “Aye.”

  “If that is the case, why did Cecil want us to place Madeleine Vernon there?” Nicholas asked, his puzzled eyes shifting from his father back to the other man.