Lord of Deception

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  “But you’ve lost blood. Even if I were to let you run from the hounds, you’d not last long. Allow me to at least bind up your arm before we decide what’s to be done.”

  “I never imagined you were so stubborn, woman. Whence comes this new war-like character?”

  She decided to take that as a compliment. “You said yourself, you can never truly know a person until you see their mettle tested. I am being tested now, and I believe my entire future may depend upon the next few hours.”

  When he opened his mouth, she pressed her fingers against it. “No more protesting. The die is cast, and we are in alliance. All are abed as far as I know, and my room will be the safest place of concealment.”

  If she judged rightly, Kit was in too poor a condition to put up much resistance. She helped him limp through the kitchens, grabbing the bottle of aqua vitae as they passed through, then paused at the foot of the stairs. Was he up to ascending them?

  She indicated his arquebus. “Come, give me your piece so you may grasp the handrail and ease yourself up.”

  “Under other circumstances, I would gladly give you my piece.” He gave her a look that made her blush.

  “Tush!” She reached for the gun. “You’re too ill to pun with me. Save your breath for climbing.”

  She made him walk behind her, indicating how to avoid creaking treads on the stairs. Her heart pounded as they made their way along the corridor—despite them both being armed, she had no wish to confront anyone with a weapon, especially not her cousin. Could she really bear to threaten someone’s life, even take it?

  As soon as she reached her chamber, a tide of relief flooded over her. She locked the door while Kit eased himself onto her bed, massaging his ankles and raw wrists.

  Necessity banished her doubts. “I’ll do that for you.” She propped the arquebus behind the door and secreted the large pistol, the dag, beneath her bed. “But in a moment. For now, I think your wound needs greater attention.”

  There was no point having rescued him if she were to let his wound fester. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her stomach to the task and reached for her ewer of water.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As Kit lay back with a sigh upon the lavender-scented sheets, he wondered if Alys was being brave, or merely very foolish. No, not foolish. He was coming to know the real Alys, and she was virtually perfect. Too precious to lose. “I have said before, I don’t deserve that you should put yourself in such danger.”

  “Believe, if you will, that I act out of loyalty to my sovereign. You need not flatter yourself that it’s all for your sake.”

  “Ah, now you are being cruel.” His voice was muffled by Alys drawing his bloodied shirt up over his head—thankfully, she’d been sensible enough to soak the sleeve first. Thin-lipped, she prodded gently at the ruined flesh, but he saw no weakness in her expression.

  Instead, there was anger. He hoped it was on his behalf.

  They both stared at the wound. The cut was neat, having been made by a blade. He should recover well.

  “How came you to be taken?”

  He’d been dreading that question. His pride had been injured almost as severely as his arm. “I underestimated my enemy. Avery sought me out, suspecting me as I was the newest member of the household. He gave me no chance to deny it or defend myself. To him, everyone is expendable, be they guilty or innocent. He’s dangerous, Alys, and desperate enough to strike first and ask questions later.” He gazed down at his bloody injury. “He will pay for doing this to me. Next time, I’ll be armed and ready.”

  As soon as Alys had bathed his wound and bound it tightly, he bade her spread out a fresh cloth and pour the damp black powder upon it.

  “Don’t put it close to the fire—we desire only to dry it, not ignite it.”

  Once satisfied he’d done all he could, Kit sank back and closed his eyes.

  He felt the mattress dip beside him. “What do you think they planned to do with you?”

  “I suspect they’ve sent for someone trained in the art of interrogation. An inquisitor if you like. Once they milked me for information, I could be slain, and they could depart for Spain or France, taking with them as much of their arsenal as they could. All traces of conspiracy would be removed, letters burned, underlings who knew too much would be disposed of—these people are utterly ruthless. Cowardly poltroons! They’d have learned nothing from me—I’d rather suffer and die than give in to their evil machinations.”

  He felt Alys shudder. “Your loyalty to your masters, and the queen, is laudable. I know hatred of Catholics runs deep after the rule of Bloody Mary, but that was before my time. Try as I might, I can’t hate a person because of their religion. But we should all be judged by our actions, not our beliefs. I wonder how Kate came to be part of this conspiracy.”

  “When she is imprisoned, you can go and ask her. But I won’t let you be alone with her before then.” When Kate found out Alys had helped him, her wrath would be deadly.

  “When will you deem it safe to leave here?”

  “Soon. Sooner yet if you give me a draught of that aqua vitae. My arm is as sound as you can make it, so I suggest we go as soon as the powder is dry.”

  She shifted away from him. “Oh, but you must be hungry and thirsty. How long did they hold you for? Here, take my manchet.”

  He opened his eyes and eased himself up on the bed. Bread first, then the alcohol, to give him courage. He stared at Alys while he chewed, feasting his eyes as well.

  “You had better get dressed,” he said. Reluctantly.

  “Why?”

  “To come away, of course.”

  “I’m not coming away.”

  Fear sliced into him. “Why ever not? That was the original plan—you were going to meet me in that field. Good God, woman—it’s now more imperative than ever that you should come. They are sure to find out who aided me.”

  “How so?”

  He spluttered into his bottle. To think he’d decided she was no fool! Wiping the errant drops from his mouth, he said, “Well, for a start, they’ll be able to see that my bonds have been cut.”

  “Not if they can’t see the bonds.” She grinned and held up the frayed ropes, then cast them into the fire. “I left no clues behind.”

  His gaze snagged on her triumphant smile. The urge to explore it with his lips was powerful but now was not the time. He took a rapid swig from the bottle and thought again. “They will know someone drugged the guard.”

  “How will they know, when I have the costrel here? They will assume he got at the ale somehow and drank himself stupid. Who knows, he may even make up his own story about your incredible escape in order to save face. He will say you broke your bonds, came at him with the force of ten men and knocked him unconscious.”

  Kit set aside the bottle and grasped her hands in his. “Alys, this is not a game. We have won a minor skirmish—we haven’t won the battle, let alone the war. Our enemies are too powerful for us. Until Walsingham gets here, there’s naught we can do but make ourselves scarce. Enough has been done to foil the conspirators’ scheme, so you can now flee this place with a clear conscience, knowing you did your best, then return when all is settled.”

  “I am not going with you. For a start, I can’t climb out of that window as you did.”

  Why was her courage failing her now? “I’ll help you. You can tuck your skirts up into your belt. I’d not let you fall.”

  “But what if we get caught again? With both of us in their clutches, we’d have no hope of rescue.”

  True. But he wasn’t prepared to leave her behind. “Walsingham, remember. Rupert will have managed to get word to him by now.”

  “What if they don’t find us in time? If I stay, I can delay their pursuit of you. You need a spy to remain in the enemy camp, to inform you of their movements. Let me be that spy. I’m best placed to know what is afoot, to direct Walsingham and your friends when they come.”

  Her stubborn refusal was starting to alarm him.
“Foolish wench! Just because you have effected a rescue and stolen a gun does not make you a hero. It’s too dangerous for you, Alys. You must come with me.”

  “If I’d run away, if I’d kept running after you failed to meet me this afternoon, where would you be now? Feeding the worms, most likely. But because I was here, I was able to read the signs, observe the enemy, work out where you were and how to rescue you. I know the house, Kit, I know the people. I am of more use to you here. Especially should they capture you again.”

  “They will not.” His voice was grim. “It offends my pride to hear you say that.” But there was logic to her argument.

  “I’m sorry. But I can’t see why they’d suspect me. No one knows there has ever been any connection between you and me. They think me dull, lacking in feeling. Kate would never imagine I might be aiding and abetting you.”

  She might be right. But he’d faced death tonight, and while doing so, he’d seen with stark clarity she was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wouldn’t abandon her now. “I’m tempted to throw you over my shoulder and haul you out of here by main force.”

  She tilted her head. “But you know I’d never forgive you if you did.”

  Probably true. Defeated, he slipped his shirt and doublet back on, keeping his eyes averted from hers—lest she see the fear they held. He tested the black powder and primed the arquebus.

  “It seems you give me no choice, even though I will never forgive myself should anything happen to you. Shall I show you how to use the dag? For once you know how to work it, you may be forced to shoot to kill. And if you were disarmed, it could be used against you.”

  She paled a little at that. “Mayhap I should just use it to deter.”

  Perhaps it would be safer thus. He opened the window and leaned outside, but the darkness was absolute. He’d have to take his chance. But he would be back the very second, the very fraction of a second, he had reinforcements.

  He felt her gaze pull on his shoulder blades, but he dared not turn around. She was his weakness, and weakness brought peril. As would any further delay. “Good luck to you, and thank you for giving me my freedom. Adieu.”

  He squeezed through the window, steadfastly ignoring the protest of his injured arm, and made his way painstakingly down the ivy. When he reached the ground, he turned to see a pale-faced Alys gazing down, tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the faint light of her chamber.

  He saluted her and pressed a hand over his heart. Then a sharp sound sent him hurrying into the darkness, not knowing if she’d seen the gesture. But knowing, with a twist of his gut, that he meant it with all his soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alys barely slept. Kit’s parting words, “Thank you for my freedom”, rang a knell in her heart. She sensed he meant more than just the rescue. Had she, by being so intractable, freed him from any attachment he might have developed for her? All her bravado ebbed away, and she lay abed feeling like a lost little child, gazing despairingly into the dark.

  How could she have let him go without telling him how she felt? What if she never had another chance to do so?

  As soon as it was full daylight, she tried to go about her business as if nothing was wrong, but it was a hard part to play. Fortunately, Kate kept to her room. Was she packing for a speedy departure? Would the conspirators now head to Norfolk, in hopes of evading Kit’s damning testimony? Avery and Kirlham crossed her path but once, and she could tell by their thunderous brows that they’d discovered the loss of their prisoner.

  Kit’s guard had been sent away after breakfast at a fast gallop, mayhap to reassemble the men who had been here upon the yester. As she watched him ride away, still sleepy and drooping over his horse’s neck, she realized she hadn’t even given a thought to the punishment he might expect for losing his captive. Did this make her as bad as the conspirators, in that she now cared nothing for her enemies? Except perhaps Kate, to whom she owed a debt of gratitude, and who had behaved much better towards her while her husband was still alive.

  By mid-morning, there was still no sign of Walsingham and his men, so Alys retreated to her room to stare gloomily out the window. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kit. Once Walsingham had his plotters in chains, would Kit be forgiven and return to court? If so, she’d likely never see him again.

  Her musings were interrupted by a noise from outside. Racing to the window, she was just in time to see a loaded wagon leave the courtyard. It was piled high with chests, bundles, and a handful of servants perched uncomfortably atop the swaying mass. Almost immediately, this vehicle was followed by another, the carriage Kate liked to use if traveling any distance. Alys caught a glimpse of Hannah Shawcross’ dark curls leaning towards Kate’s bright ones as the carriage window came into her line of vision.

  They were leaving. Kate, Hannah, the servants. But if they were intending to go up to Norfolk as planned, why had no one told her?

  Panic seized her. She flew to open the door, but it was stuck fast, and the key had vanished.

  Someone had locked her in.

  Who had done this? And how had they managed it so quietly that she hadn’t even heard? Oh, what a fool she’d been to take to her room. What good could she do Kit and the authorities now? She’d have done better to take her chances in the open instead of being caught here like a rat in a trap.

  She might have to use the window after all—but no, there was a man standing just beneath it, watching the coach and the wagon rumble away. She recognized the expensive black velvet of his attire. Sir Thomas Kirlham. Was he deliberately stationed there, to prevent her descent down the ivy?

  The locked door, the guard beneath her window, could only mean one thing—she was no longer trusted. The point for dissembling had passed. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath the bed and withdrew the dag, then spread out the cloth with the black powder to make it look as if she’d just primed the gun. Pointing the weapon at the door, she waited.

  Her nemesis was not long in coming. But it was Richard Avery, not Kirlham, who slammed into the room. For a moment, she felt relief—he had never terrified her as Kirlham had. She was soon to discover her mistake.

  She raised the gun in shaking hands. “Stand aside and let me pass.”

  He halted and stared, eyes glittering palely as they roved from the gun to Alys’ face and back again. “I would put that down if I were you. Such things are accounted dangerous.”

  “Don’t patronize me, sir—I’m sure it will work as effectively for a woman as it would for a man. I’m not afraid to use it to protect myself.”

  “Forgive me.” Sarcasm dripped from his mouth. “I meant no insult. Only, it would surprise me to learn you had used such a weapon before. You must understand that if handled wrongly, it could be just as damaging to you as to whoever it’s pointed at.”

  “I know about misfires—I’m no simpleton. The fact is, I’m prepared to take a chance on it. Are you?”

  He drew in a breath, and his posture relaxed. “Why do you feel it necessary to threaten me, Alys? Have I ever done you any harm?”

  “Not until the moment you locked me into my room. I can’t believe you’d incarcerate me if you meant me no harm.”

  He moved a pace into the room, but the waving of the gun brought him up short again. Holding out his hands in a conciliatory gesture, he said, “A mere precaution, my dear. There is a dangerous felon on the loose. I didn’t want you harmed.”

  She stared at Avery’s handsome face. Such a shame this Adonis amongst men should turn out to be so black-hearted—it was a waste. Still, his playacting was good. Someone of a more trusting nature might have believed his words.

  “If you were locking me in for my own safety, why not tell me? Instead, I find myself an unsuspecting prisoner, so give me leave to distrust anything you say. The only wicked felon hereabouts is you.”

  “Unjust accusation! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t wish you to be alarmed. Young ladies of good breeding are prone to overr
eact in times of difficulty.”

  “Did you see me overreacting the other night when the house was flooding? Did you see me overreacting yesterday when the manor was filled with strangers?”

  He smirked at her. “So, what are you now then, if not overwrought? People don’t usually go around threatening the lives of those who have come to help them.”

  When he took another step towards her, she straightened her arm and squeezed her finger.

  The taunting smile faded. “Enough of this childishness. Give me the weapon. I need you to come with me.”

  “You shall not have it.” She was proud of how firm her voice sounded. “I tire of this conversation. Turn around and leave the room slowly. Head for the stables—I’ll be following, and I expect to have my horse saddled, and to ride away without being molested.”

  Avery propped his elbow on top of the firescreen and casually rested his chin on his hand. “I can see you mean business, so let’s stop this masquerade. Your mind has clearly been poisoned against me by the spy who came here in the guise of a gardener. Aye, I can tell by your face you know of whom I speak. Why you should believe the words of one so used to dissembling escapes me. You would do better to take the word of a gentleman.”

  She thought about Kit’s wound. “You are no gentleman—if you were, you would not have burst uninvited into my room. But that’s the least of your crimes. I didn’t need to take his word for it—I’ve seen the evidence of your calumny myself.”

  “So, it was you who released the dog. A witless act, my girl. Even more foolish of you not to flee alongside the coward. He, it seems, has more sense than you.”

  “He’s no coward! You sliced into his sword arm, so what use was it for him to remain here?”

  “You don’t think it spineless of him to allow you to effect his rescue and then abandon you to your fate?” Avery shook his head and tutted condescendingly.

  Despite her perilous situation, Alys’ blood boiled. She waved the dag at him. “You’ve got it all wrong.”