John shook his head. Aye, he had done things in the past he was not proud of, flirted with ladies of every age and station, coaxed secrets from them. But Alys—she was different. Different from every other lady he had ever known, with her sweetness and her laughter, even with her sensible help when he was injured. Aye, Alys was different. ‘I did not seduce her into helping me, Sir Matthew. She has a good, kind heart and it was wounded seeing Bingham’s brutality.’
For an instant, Matthew looked surprised. ‘I am sure she was.’ That unguarded expression was gone as fast as it was there, hidden behind that small smile. ‘I knew Sir William when we were young and I remember Elena Lorca, who became Elena Drury. She was a gentle beauty as well and Sir William thought her love worthy of exile from court. Her daughter looks much like her.’
‘Are you saying you think I am considering staying here?’ John asked. He had not thought of such a thing before, but now that it had occurred to him it seemed—alluring. A home, a hearth of his own, with a lady like Alys by his side. No more wandering, no more lies.
It was alluring indeed, but he knew it could never be. His past made him unworthy of someone like Alys and his duty was to his work still. He shook away the brief image of a life of his own and faced his godfather again with a scowl.
Matthew shrugged. ‘The life of an intelligencer is a difficult one, even as necessary as it is, and most men do not last in it as many years as I have. It can grow most wearisome.’
John nodded. Wearisome indeed. He had craved adventure, sought it, and it had come to him in spades. Yet he had not done what he wanted the most—to retrieve the honour of his family name from the depths his father had dragged it to, to restore Huntleyburg. He still had much work to do and sweet Alys could be no part of it.
‘I have been injured, true,’ John said. ‘But I am regaining my health. I still have services I can perform for the Queen. And Alys—she deserves better than I could give her. She deserves a husband with a calm disposition and a fine estate.’
Matthew studied him for a long, tense moment and finally nodded. ‘As you say, there is still much you can do for Queen Elizabeth, for England. You have already done far more than even I could have imagined. As for Lady Alys...’
‘She must not be harmed!’
‘Never. She shall be rewarded in some way for her bravery in saving your life, I shall see to that. Perhaps a rich marriage? Some titled gentleman from the court?’ Matthew smiled at John’s involuntary scoffing sound. ‘You do not like that idea, I see, John. Well, we shall think of something for her later. For now, we must be gone. We sail on the dawn tide.’
‘So soon?’ John asked, startled.
‘We must return to the Queen as soon as possible. We have much to tell her of what has happened here and the danger from Spain has not passed. They say some of the ships have regrouped at Ostend and may yet connect with Parma’s army. And there are rumours that some of the English Catholic exiles have already secretly reached England’s shores. I do not want Sir William or any of the men here to know such things. Also, most importantly, the spy who was in contact with Peter de Vargas is still at the Queen’s court and we do not know who it is. They must be found and you are the only one who can do it.’
‘But I must thank Alys for all she has done. She...’ She had done everything. She had summoned him back to life, both his body and soul, when he had been on the edge of surrendering it. She was a flash of light and joy in darkness. How could he give that up now, now that he had seen what could be? Yet he knew he had to. For her sake. Especially if Peter’s spy was still at court. Matthew was right—the danger was not past. It was never past.
Matthew came to John and laid his hands gently on his shoulders, looking into his eyes most solemnly. ‘I know how it is. I know the longings in a lonely heart. But you have chosen a different path in life, a dark and rocky one, and you must see it to its close. Lady Alys is gentle and beautiful, as her mother was. Do you not want to spare her such dangers?’
‘Of course I do.’ John was sure of that. He did care about Alys too much, owed her too much, to expose her to the dangers of his own life. ‘Very well.’
Matthew nodded. ‘I do know how it feels. I had to make such choices myself, in my youth, and I watched the lady I loved have a better life for it. Lady Alys will be well, I promise you.’
Lady Alys would be well. John nodded, but he could not answer. His throat was tight with all the feelings his heart dared not admit.
‘Now, we must be going,’ Matthew said briskly. He re-tied his cloak and turned for the door.
John quickly gathered up his few possessions. He knew well that this was for the best, that it was necessary, but still he felt he had to say farewell to Alys in some way, to let her know she would never be forgotten by him. As he piled his shirts into a bundle, he saw the block of wood he had been carving to pass the hours, an almost completed angel with delicate wings and a soft smile. He had thought of Alys as he carved it, for he would always think of her as his angel.
As Matthew put out the fire, John carefully placed the angel where Alys would find her. He hoped she saw the message of it. The dying light of the flames caught on the ring he always wore, the ring carved with arms of his mother’s families, and impulsively he tugged it off his finger and left it caught on the tip of the angel’s wing. The ring had helped keep him safe on his travels; now he hoped it would do the same for Alys.
As he closed the door behind him, John paused for one glance back. He had never been sorry to leave a place before. Temporary lodgings in Antwerp or Paris or Lisbon never felt like home and he was always glad to see the last of them, to go on to the next adventure. But this place, this makeshift dairy chamber...
He knew he would always remember it. The sweetness he had known for those few moments with Alys, the forgetfulness he found in her kiss, the laughter, he had never known such things before. He hoped with all he had that somehow she would know the great gift she had given him, that she would remember him for the man he wished he could be, not the wandering deceiver he was.
But Matthew was right. Alys was too good for the life he led, the man he had to be. She had been a gift to him, one he had to let go of now for her own happiness.
He followed Matthew to the cliff steps. He glimpsed a ship below, a small, sleek pinnace riding the waves, waiting to shoot out of the bay and into the sea beyond. He glanced back at the castle and saw a few lights at the windows, pinpricks in the pre-dawn gloom. And beyond...
In the sky beyond there was a strange, pinkish glow. A suspicious light.
Matthew looked back as if to see that John still followed and his expression shifted as he, too, glimpsed the glow in the sky. His mouth hardened.
‘Not everyone here, it seems, is as loyal as William Drury and his daughter,’ Matthew said.
John remembered Bingham, the killing in the name of the Queen. He remembered other towns in the Low Countries and Portugal, burned for harbouring fugitives, for keeping secrets. ‘What have you done here?’
‘What you yourself have done many times, John. What we all must do to keep Queen Elizabeth safe. That village was disloyal. Now, we must go or we shall miss the tide.’
John turned to run back to the castle, to shout the warnings, but Matthew seized his arm in a hard grasp. ‘Remember your vows, your work, John. If you do not leave with me now, it shall go worse for everyone here. If it is thought Lady Alys helped a suspected Spanish spy, what will happen to her? Come now. The Queen is waiting.’
John stared at his godfather for a long moment and in those cold grey eyes he saw his own soul, his own past. His own future. It was a bleak one, but it was the one he had chosen. He had to protect Alys now by leaving her behind. He nodded and followed Matthew to the ship, not looking back again.
Chapter Eleven
Alys awoke to complete chaos.
But the noise only grew louder, maids sobbing in the corridor, men’s loud voices from the courtyard below her window, bells ringing from the chapel. Suddenly, Alys realised it was not a dream at all. Peace had not yet returned to Dunboyton.
She thought of Juan, hidden at the abbey, and she sat straight up in bed. Had he been discovered? Was he being dragged to Bingham even now? Cold fear raced through her.
She jumped to the floor and wrapped her bed robe around her shoulders as she ran to the window. It was still night, but surely near dawn, for the darkness was touched at the horizon with a faint glow. The courtyard below was crowded with her father’s men, many of them just fastening their jerkins and pulling on cloaks as if they had been hastily summoned from their beds. She couldn’t see any organisation to their racings and shouts, though.
She had to find Juan.
She hastily pulled on her gown, a simple woollen house dress she could lace herself, with no sleeves. She stuffed her feet into her boots and hurried into the corridor. She saw servants running towards the stairs and some coming up them, but could make no sense to it.
She glimpsed Molly from the laundry and grabbed the girl’s arm as she dashed past. ‘Molly! What is happening?’
The girl turned her freckled, tearstained face towards Alys. ‘Oh, my lady! They say the village has been set afire. We’re being attacked!’
Alys stared at her in shock. ‘The village? Have Bingham’s men returned?’
‘I don’t know, my lady. Maybe it’s the Spanish! They’ve come to kill us in our beds after all!’
Alys thought again of Juan and hoped he stayed where he was in the dairy. ‘Where is my father? Or his guest, Sir Matthew Morgan?’
‘I haven’t seen Sir Matthew. Sir William is in the courtyard.’ Her sobs broke out again and she covered her face with her apron.
Alys gave her a little shake. She almost wanted to start crying in confusion herself, but there was not time to be wasted thus. She had to keep her wits about her if she was to find out what was happening. ‘Go gather some supplies to take into the village, then. No matter what, there are people who will need food and blankets come morning. I will find my father.’
As Alys hurried to the stairs, she remembered the strange feeling Sir Matthew had given her, as if he watched everything around him too carefully, especially her. Could he be a spy of some sort, his visit to Dunboyton a cover for something? She made her way up the stairs to his chamber and knocked on the door. There was no reply, no sound at all, and when she peeked inside she found it was empty. All his possessions were gone.
Panicked now in truth, she ran out to the courtyard and found her father just as he was swinging into his saddle. He wore chainmail beneath his cloak and his face was taut and grey in the torchlight.
‘Father!’ she called out. She dashed past the other horsemen and foot soldiers, grasping his stirrup. ‘What is happening?’
He gave her a grim smile. ‘I fear the village has been set alight, but no one seems to know why. There are rumours they were hiding Spanish spies.’
Juan. Had he been found? ‘Is it Bingham again? What has he found exactly?’
‘I don’t know yet, but I am riding out now to find out. You must stay here, bar the doors until I return.’
‘Sir Matthew has gone.’
Her father nodded grimly. ‘Aye, I thought as much. He has his work to do, just as we do. I must go now, Alys. Do as I say!’
Her father spurred his horse onward and Alys watched as his men followed him out of the castle. The gates to the courtyard swung shut behind them. She knew she had to hurry.
She didn’t even go back to the castle to grab a cloak, she just ran to the kitchen-garden wall and climbed it to make her way to the steps up to the abbey. The dawn was coming now, lighting the familiar path. She tried to focus on one step after another, not thinking about what might lie in wait at the abbey. Could it be in flames, too?
Much to her relief, when she came over the top of the hill and glimpsed the old stones of the abbey, she saw all was quiet there. Perhaps too quiet? There was no smoke from the chimney of the dairy, no sign of any life at all.
‘Juan? Are you here?’ she called as she pushed open the door. But she knew even as she said the words that he was gone. There was only the chill staleness of abandonment about the room again.
It was almost as if he had never been there at all.
Alys tiptoed to the middle of the chamber and turned in a circle to take it all in. The fire was gone, leaving only ashes in the grate, the blankets of his makeshift bed folded and piled in a corner. There were no clothes. Had it truly been a dream? Had he been a dream?
Alys closed her eyes, and in her imagination she remembered their kiss. The fire and sweetness of it, the way it made her feel as if she could fly free into the sunshine. She thought of his sea-green eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her. The deep, rich sound of his laughter.
Nay. It had not been a dream. But perhaps it had been her imagining, those feelings, that smile. It had not meant to him what it had to her. How could it?
She opened her eyes and saw that the room was not entirely abandoned. She glimpsed something perched atop the old milking stool. As she moved closer, she saw it was the small block of wood he had been carving. It was not blank now, though, but formed into the delicate shape of an angel. Her pointed wings were etched with elegant feathers, her hands clasped before the folds of her robe, her expression one of sweet smiling. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a whisper of a halo around her head.
Alys lifted it up and examined it closely, as if it could tell her the secrets of Juan, where he had gone, who he truly was. She remembered how he had called her his angel, his merciful rescuer, but she feared she was no angel. She was too frightened, too angry at his sudden departure from her life to find any such heavenly serenity.
And this carved angel was mute. Alys tucked her into the hidden pocket of her skirt and, as she did so, something fell from the tip of its carved wing and fell with a clink to the floor. A beam of moonlight gleamed on it.
Alys stooped to pick it up. It was the gold ring she had seen so often on Juan’s finger. Now, up close, she saw the band was worn with use. There was something etched on its face, but she could not make it out in the shadows.
‘Where is he?’ she whispered as she turned the ring over on her palm. Who was he, really? Such desperate longings rose up in her to know, yet she feared she never would now. He was gone and whatever he was to her was gone with him.
She slid the ring on to her finger, and ran to the door as if she could look hard enough to find him again. Yet she knew she would not see him, no matter how far she ran or how hard she looked. He was gone, vanished from her life as quickly as he had appeared. That glimpse of excitement and adventure she had with him, the fire of his kiss, the feeling of not being alone at last—it was gone.
She had known such a moment would soon come. He could not stay hidden here at the abbey for ever. Yet losing him so quickly hurt far more than she would have expected. It was like an arrow through her chest, almost a physical pain.
She made her way back to the castle in a daze, only habit guiding her footsteps. On the steps to the beach, she found a group of people running up and noticed their faces and garments were streaked with smoke.
She caught the arm of one of them as they hurried past. ‘Are you from the village?’ she asked, her daze cleared completely. ‘What has happened?’
‘They burned some of the houses,’ the man said angri
ly. His wife held on to his other hand, sobbing.
‘Who did this?’ Alys asked.
‘Some of the Lord Constable’s men, they say. They claimed we were harbouring spies, but we never! This fight is none of ours and look what has happened to us.’
‘My father, Sir William Drury, is he there now?’ Alys said, her fear and anger growing within her, as sharp as the pain from losing Juan. Surely Sir Matthew Morgan had something to do with this, with his sudden appearance and just as sudden departure. And Juan—was Juan with him? Had he given him the information that destroyed the village, whatever it was?
She prayed it was not so.
‘Aye, they’re putting out the flames now,’ the man said. He spat at the ground before he turned away to follow the others. ‘It matters not what side we’re on, we’ll pay the price for this war in the end.’
Alys continued on towards the castle, that anger growing inside her so she could barely see anything else. If Juan had done this and she had helped him—nay, she could not think that, or it would drive her mad. She had to forget him now, forget him as if she had never known him at all, no matter what had happened. He did not deserve her tenderness if this was his doing, and if it was not—then she could not go on dreaming of him for ever. Aye, she had to forget him, one way or another.
Yet she knew even as she made that vow that it would be the hardest one to keep.
Chapter Twelve
Several weeks later
‘Most exciting news, Alys!’
Alys glanced up from her sewing and smiled to see her father’s enthusiasm as he came into the great hall, waving a letter in the air. He had been in such low spirits since the horror of the Armada, staying in his library all hours, only emerging to eat dinner, grey-faced and silent. Messengers passed back and forth, but she knew not what letters they bore.
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