Gasping at what he dared, Anne fair leapt back out of his arms and glared at him. The earl only grinned, gloating that he’d stolen a bit of pleasure from her. It was so like what Deyville meant to do to her, and had done to her at the Maying, that Anne’s anger woke. By God, but she’d had enough of men who thought to use her without any care for what might happen to her as they did so.
“If you’re steady, again, mistress,” her noble partner said, lust and laughter living in his brown gaze, “hurry your steps a bit, or we’ll be too late to turn at the head of the room. Remember, the men circle first, the women after.”
In her anger Anne forgot to hide her skill. Up the room’s length she went without a single misstep, standing aside with her fellow female dancers as the men circled then clutching hands with the other ladies as they turned. Only when she once more caught her arm into Lord Robert’s and saw the startled surprise in his eyes did Anne realize what she’d done. It was almost too late to correct the error, for even now they were making their final turn. Her mouth narrowed. There was no help for it; Lord Robert’s foot would pay the price.
With a mummer’s gasp of confusion, she turned the wrong way and pretended to stumble. Lord Robert reached out to steady her. Just as Anne expected, the earl again tried to pull her too close to him.
Anne set her foot directly atop his shoe and stepped with all her might. Lord Robert loosed a bellow of pain and hopped out of line. The dance ground to a halt as participants and musicians alike burst into laughter, the room echoing with the sound of amusement.
Anne clapped her hands to her cheeks in horror. “And, I was doing so well until this moment,” she cried out to the room.
Lady Lettice flew to take the earl’s left arm, supporting him whilst he tried to set his foot upon the ground. Anne came to take his other.
“My lord, a thousand pardons.” Her words rang with a distress she didn’t feel. “So hard was I concentrating upon my steps that I forgot which way to turn.”
Lord Robert managed a smile. In his gaze lived the acknowledgment of the message she’d sent; there’d be no more grabbing on his part. “Give it no more thought, Mistress Anne.” His words slipped past teeth clenched in pain.
“Bring him to us,” the queen called from her chair.
Anne drew a breath in fear. What would her impulsive need to punish cost her? Turning, she and Lady Lettice aided the hobbling man to his royal mistress’s side. It wasn’t until the queen offered a swift, sidelong glance that Anne relaxed; there was no anger in the royal face.
“My poor Eyes,” Elizabeth said to her earl, her lips curving into a smile. “Has my backward maid broken your foot?”
He smiled. No matter what Mary said of him, or what Anne knew about him, Lord Robert carried true affection in his heart for the woman who was his queen. Anne saw it in the curve of his mouth and the softening in his face as he looked upon Elizabeth.
“It matters naught as long as my wounding gave you a moment’s entertainment,” he told Elizabeth.
“We take no joy from your pain,” his Gloriana replied. “Since you’re done with dancing for the evening, so are We. Come, you’ll take our arm. We’ve work to tend to, and you have bruises that need treatment.”
As the queen rose from her chair the Privy Chamber usher beat his staff against the floor to call the room’s attention to their monarch’s departure. All across the room men pulled their hats from their heads and bowed. The ladies and maids, Anne included, dropped into curtsies, not to rise until the queen had passed them for the chamber door.
“We bid you all a good evening,” England’s monarch called out to those like Anne whose lower rank didn’t allow her to enter the queen’s private chambers.
From the corners of the room came the ladies of the Privy Chamber, including Mary. Mary offered Anne a pleased smile, more than liking the injury done to the man she so despised. The last to follow were those noblemen yet seeking to press a final word of flattery on their monarch.
Of those who stayed behind the duke of Norfolk was one, when he, above all other lords, had the right to go. Instead, he stared hungrily after Leicester. Again, it struck Anne that no matter how many men the duke gathered around him, he ever wore a solitary air, as if his exalted rank didn’t raise him above others as much as it isolated him.
“How now, Mistress Anne? Pining after a widower placed more highly than me?” Lord Deyville breathed his angry words over Anne’s shoulder, startling her.
She whirled, only to gasp as the nobleman grabbed her arm. The rage she’d seen in his face while he watched her dance yet colored his features. “You were toying with Leicester,” he snarled.
“I was not,” Anne cried out in surprise. What followed was the urge to add that if she had been toying with the earl it would have been none of Deyville’s concern, since the queen had refused his contract. She swallowed the retort as pure foolhardiness.
“Nay?” Jealousy burned bright in the lord’s cheeks, bringing vicious lights to his gray eyes. “I saw the way you let him fondle you as you danced.”
Anne yanked on her arm to no avail. “Fondle! Hardly so. He but steadied me after I stumbled,” she lied in self-preservation. If she spoke the truth about Leicester’s interest today, tomorrow it would fly to the queen’s ear.
“Liar!” Deyville’s fingers tightened until Anne flinched. “I know what I saw. He grabbed you, holding you until you thrust away from him.”
Anne wanted to scream in frustration. “If that’s what you saw then you know I don’t encourage him. How can you accuse me of interest in him?” she snapped and again yanked on her arm. “Free me this instant,” she commanded her thwarted suitor.
“I think not.” Deyville’s smile was twisted. He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers down the curve of Anne’s cheek. “Instead, I’ve come to guard what’s mine. And best you heed me when I say you are yet mine,” he continued in warning. “Our contract will stand. What your idiot grandsire has put wrong I can rectify.”
Her breath hissing from her in a heated stream, Anne stepped back to the limit of her arm. “Only when my royal mistress approves that contract will I be yours. And I warn you that I pray that day never comes.”
“Is that a threat?” Deyville’s mouth lifted in an unholy smile. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you, spoiling you for any other man, thus forcing our queen’s hand in the matter of the contract. Once you’re maid no longer she’ll have no choice but to wed us, wishing to save what’s left of your repute.”
Anne glared at him. Perhaps Kit was right. It was better to die with him than enter into marriage with Deyville.
Once more dressed in his courtly best, this time his blue doublet over gold and brown breeches, Kit reached the Presence Chamber door. As always, Elizabeth’s lifeguards stood at the entrance. The silver trim on their scarlet uniforms gleamed against the light of a hundred candles pouring through the doorway behind them. The sound of as many voices flowed out with the light, the noise so loud Kit could barely hear the music that was so much a part of the queen’s idle hours. As always, the guards’ pikes were held to block the door’s opening, deterring the lowly and unwanted from entering.
Kit nodded to them, knowing only one, Will. The man was one of the two guards whose tongue he’d dampened with ale after Anne’s presentation. “A fine evening,” he said in greeting.
Will smiled. “It would have been a better evening if we’d not had our backs turned.”
“Aye,” the other added, “we only heard my lord of Leicester’s bellow when your student trod upon his foot.”
Kit laughed as he took up his role in this, the queen’s sly game. “I try, the Lord God knows how hard,” he sighed, every inch the long suffering tutor. “As a dancer I fear Mistress Anne may well be hopeless.”
Still chuckling over the thought of his Nan bruising the earl’s toes, Kit moved toward the door to await the usher. Lady Montmercy stood across the room. Kit frowned. The lady’s face was alive with i
nterest. He followed her gaze to Lord Deyville’s back then caught his breath. That foul nobleman was accosting his Nan!
“Let me pass,” Kit hissed to the guards.
As he’d done once before, Will’s pike lifted. Kit ducked beneath the other man’s weapon and entered unannounced. No longer was he Deyville’s inferior as he’d been at the Maying. Now that Nick had publicly named Kit his heir, Kit and yon nobleman were far closer to being equals.
He caught back his anger. Close they might be, but not close enough to allow his attack. Nay, it was subtlety and calm that would serve him in this battle.
Stopping beside the nobleman, Kit offered his finest bow, his emotions hidden under a courtier’s polite veneer. “Might I offer condolences, my lord, upon the recent loss of your wife?”
Deyville’s jaw clenched. With a furious hiss, the nobleman released Anne and leaned close to Kit. “She’s mine. Touch her, and you die,” he muttered.
Kit fought his grin. Deyville was too late. Kit had already touched Nan and was more than prepared to die for what he’d done.
“My lord, I heard you well enough the first time you said as much.” He let his words remind the peer that Deyville had been the loser when first they met.
Deyville only whirled and stormed from the room. Kit wasn’t the only one watching his departure. Lady Montmercy eyed the peer with open consideration. Even as the oddness of this struck Kit, he set it aside for another time and turned his attention onto the woman who held his heart.
“Did he hurt you, Mistress Anne?” He longed to take her in his arms, but to do so was to destroy all hope of a future between them. The best he could do was soften his voice and let his smile offer what he could not.
“Nay, praise be,” she said, her affection for him living in her gaze. “I vow, Master Christopher you are most handy to have about. Were it up to me, I’d keep you close for some time to come.”
Cloaked in her words was everything Kit wanted to hear. His heart fair melted, his love for her growing until he felt giddy with it. “Mistress, I’m at your service for as long as you’ll have me,” he promised in return.
Joy filled Anne’s face. Kit’s smile broadened. “Have a care,” he whispered in fond warning. “This glow of yours simply will not do. Folk will talk.”
Anne had to bow her head for a moment to rein in her emotions. When she again looked up at him her expression was bland. “It’s a good thing that I’m a woman of great control,” she whispered to him, “else I’d give folk plenty to talk about.”
“And I’d allow it, were I not a man impervious to seduction,” Kit laughed.
Taking her arm, he drew her out of the room’s center to a quieter place where there were fewer ears turned in their direction. “Bertie tells me the queen declined to even look upon your grandsire’s contract. If that’s so, what did Deyville want of you?”
“To tell me he yet intends to make me his,” Anne replied, worry and outrage filling her gaze. “Damn me, but I lost my temper with him and said too much. He threatened to rape me and force the queen’s hand.”
Her words sent Kit’s anger soaring anew, but louder still was the warning bell clanging at the back of his brain. He glanced to where Lady Montmercy stood. She was gone. Had she overheard Deyville’s threats against Anne? Would she find a way to use Deyville to do what Kit had refused?
Kit’s eyes narrowed. Christ, but with Deyville as her tool, Lady Montmercy would achieve more than just Sir Amyas’s destruction. Once Anne’s lack of maidenhead was exposed they’d all be destroyed—himself, Anne, Amyas, Andrew, even Lady Montmercy.
Across the room the musicians launched into an Almain. With a rowdy burst of laughter a new set of dancers gathered to enjoy the tune. Now that the queen was gone they broke ranks, including even servants in their midst.
“Kit!” John’s deep voice rose over the music and general buzz of conversation to reverberate against the stone walls.
Kit turned. John and Ned were leading young Lord Montmercy toward them. Anne leaned close, and Kit forgot all to let his senses fill with her nearness.
“I cannot help myself,” she whispered with a tiny laugh. “I have the most horrid urge to call him uncle.”
Having not seen the lordling since Anne’s revelation, Kit now freed an astonished breath. Striding toward him, holding his shoulders in the same stiff fashion as his sire, was the connection between the lady and the knight. The rusty red color of Andrew’s doublet enhanced his olive skin tone. His dark hair was the same color as Anne’s, while they shared the same shape of eye, although Andrew’s were a deep, brownish-blue. Old Amyas’s mark showed in the length of the lad’s nose and the squaring of his chin.
As Andrew stopped before them, Kit bowed, even though it felt wrong to offer the lad such respect now that he knew the truth. After all, Amyas was the son of a tradesman and Andrew naught but his bastard.
Anne bobbed. “My lord.”
“Mistress Anne,” Lord Andrew said, then turned his attention on Kit. “But here’s the man who’ll soon be my equal.”
“Ah, so Master Wyatt has been here, has he?” Kit said, trying for a casual tone. The very idea of being Nick’s heir felt wrong. It felt worse to speak publicly about it.
“Master Wyatt is still here,” Anne corrected. “Your brother’s steward remains, waiting upon a personal interview with our royal mistress.”
“Much to my detriment,” John said, with a touch of irritation. “His staying cost me my quarters. I’ve been displaced.” John had maneuvered himself into one of the small house-like residences that sat beyond Greenwich’s tiltyard.
With the flourish of a nobleman, Ned sniffed. “It only shows that you weren’t quite as clever as you thought when you appropriated a better man’s accommodation. A mere gentleman such as yourself should feel fortunate to have a space at the top of the servant’s hall.”
As even Lord Andrew laughed at this, Ned glanced at Kit, new intensity in his gaze. “Something interesting happened while you were gone. I have it from an usher that Norfolk addressed our queen’s councilors and won an agreement among them that Mary Stuart should be wed to an Englishman.”
Kit shook his head. “Norfolk but lays the groundwork to announce what he’s already done.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice to keep what he next said private. “The duke sent the Scots queen a diamond as a token of his intent to wed her.”
“Nay!” Anne cried out, worry creasing her brow. “He has no right to plot and plan so behind my mistress’s back. Someone must tell her what is afoot.”
“Better you than me, mistress,” John said. “I’d rather keep my head attached to my neck.”
With that warning, their conversation flowed from politics into hunting and hawking. All in all, it evolved into a most pleasant evening. They stayed until the candles guttered in their sconces and most all the others were at their rest. When they at last left the Presence Chamber, Kit was surprised to see Will yet at the door for the guard had changed.
The guardsman straightened as he saw Kit exit and lifted a hand. “Master Hollier, a moment.”
“Hold a minute,” Kit called to his friends then stepped to the side to see what the guard wanted.
“Take heed, master,” Will whispered when they were close. “At the base of the stairs are two men, bailiffs from the Fleet, come to claim you on behalf of your creditors.”
Eyes wide, Kit nigh on choked against this news. Lady Montmercy wasn’t going to wait for the end of July to take his life. Gratitude followed. Will had saved both his life and Anne’s, as well.
Kit laid a hand upon the guard’s shoulder. “I owe you more than a cup of ale for this,” he told the man. “You’re a friend and true.”
“I thought it only fair that you be warned,” Will said with a lift of his shoulders and a wink, then descended the stairs.
Kit stared after him, suddenly grateful that the queen had kept Jamie waiting. Chances were the lady had told her bailiffs wh
ere his quarters were, but not his connection to Jamie, or where Nick’s steward slept. Aye, but how to reach Jamie’s quarters before the bailiffs caught him?
Returning to his party, Kit offered his friends a sheepish grin. “I fear I’m having a bit of a problem with my creditors. Philistines that they are, they’ve set the bailiffs on me,” he said. “Will’s just told me they await me beyond the door.”
If Anne gasped, John and Ned groaned in commiseration, both having made brief stays in that foul place for the same reason. Lord Andrew puffed out his chest. “Well, they’ll not have you. I’ll promise to pay what you owe.”
“A thousand thanks, my lord,” Kit said, wishing a few angels were all he needed to solve his problem, “but coins I can get from my brother through Master Wyatt. You can better serve me by keeping the bailiffs at bay long enough for me to make my escape to Master Wyatt’s quarters.”
John’s deep laugh echoed in the stairwell. “I think we three are stout enough to deter two.”
“What of you, Mistress Anne?” Kit asked of his love, feeling her concern for him cross the space between them. “Will you think me a coward should I make a dash for it?”
“I should think you a fool if you didn’t,” she retorted with a carefree smile that almost hid her true feelings.
Needing a way to let her know what became of him, Kit looked at John. “If you’re sleeping in the servant’s hall, John, will you have your man awaken mine, sending him to me? It’s Bertie Babthorpe he’ll seek out. Bertie and his new wife now take their rest somewhere in the servant’s hall.” What Bertie knew, Patience could carry to Anne.
“Aye, I can do that,” John said, then looked across the group of them. “Come then, let’s prepare for this foray.”
It took but a moment for the party to reorganize. When they were done Anne was on Lord Montmercy’s arm. They descended the stairs with Ned and John on their heels. Kit took up the rear, already wishing Jamie’s quarters weren’t at the eastern end of the palace compound, near the orchard.
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