Lord of Deception

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  “It is for the sake of Anne’s honor that I did not deny her when she made her accusations last Eastertide. Any true gentleman would have done as I did, and remain silent rather than refute a lady’s word. But if, as you say, this matter is just between us, you must know Anne told a wicked falsehood when she stated I had dishonored her.”

  There was a gasp of outrage from Anne, but Elizabeth silenced her with a glance. “So, Madam, Ludlow claims he was too much the gentleman to call you a liar. In light of this, will you rescind your accusations against him? You risk my displeasure, but I won’t have you punished if you speak the truth. And I know Ludlow won’t ask for it, despite the exile and the danger he has suffered as a result of your falsehoods.”

  “I will not take back my claim.” Anne sounded like a petulant child. “He wooed me with sweet words and a lover’s caresses until I surrendered myself to him. I still insist he should marry me.”

  Alys looked at Kit’s furious expression. She knew who she’d prefer to believe, and suddenly realized it was within her power to absolve Kit—despite the blow to her honor.

  “Your Majesty—there may be a way to settle this practically, to spare you the difficulty of deciding who speaks the truth and who hides behind falsehoods. I’ll attempt to prove Sir Christopher is innocent of corrupting this young woman.”

  Anne wagged a furious finger at her. “She is biased, Your Majesty. Everyone knows he transferred his affections from me to her—she is bound to speak out in his defense.”

  Everyone knew? Except herself, apparently. She shivered but lifted her chin at her opponent.

  The queen dusted some cake crumbs from her fingers. “What is your proof, Mistress Barchard?”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. She felt her skin burning from top to toe. “If Anne Lacey has been dishonored by Sir Christopher, one assumes she has seen him unclothed.”

  Anne’s head snapped up, and she gave Alys a haughty glare. “Why, of course. Though no lady of breeding would ever ask another such a question.”

  “What is your point, Mistress Barchard?” There was an edge to Elizabeth’s voice.

  “’Tis only that when… when tending a wound Kit received at Selwood, I noticed a distinguishing mark.”

  “Indeed? And can you tell us on which part of his person this mark was to be found?”

  “I could, but perhaps Mistress Lacey would like to speak first, as she must have seen it if she’s seen him naked.”

  Anne’s hauteur dissolved. Alys allowed herself a moment’s smugness. Kit was thin-lipped, clearly annoyed at this discussion of his person, but said nothing.

  Suddenly Anne’s head went back, triumph on her face. “It is a trick! There is no mark.”

  Everyone gazed at Alys. The queen drummed her fingers again. “Mistress Barchard?”

  “There is a scar, the mark of a dagger cut, below Sir Christopher’s right breast. It stands out pale against his skin.”

  Kit’s eyebrows shot up. In appreciation of her cleverness—she hoped.

  There was a glint of amusement in the queen’s eye. “Remove your doublet and shirt, Ludlow, so I may see which of these two ladies speaks the truth.”

  He heaved a great sigh, shook his head, and unlaced his doublet. The chain with the golden fleece upon it was placed reverentially on the stone window sill, after which he dragged his lawn shirt over his head. The scar stood out like a beacon. Alys feasted her eyes on his figure as he squared his muscular shoulders, as imposing without his fine clothes as he was with them.

  Anne gave a little squeak of dismay and rushed for the door. As she flung it open, a pageboy, his hand raised to knock, almost fell into the room and it took some moments for the pair to disentangle themselves and for Anne to continue her escape. The boy announced the arrival of Hubert Norris, and both bowed low.

  Whatever business Norris had with the queen was immediately forgotten as his eyes roved over Kit’s bared torso. Straight-faced, he apologized for arriving at such an inopportune moment, then backed away and hurried from the room. But not before Alys had noticed the look he bestowed on Kit—there had been more than a hint of malice in it.

  Was she the reason? Had she unwittingly created a rivalry between these two men by appearing to encourage Norris? She handed Kit his shirt, forcing from her mind the memories of him emerging naked from the pond at Selwood. She sensed his fury, but he was doing his best to conceal his ire from the queen.

  He took the shirt, averting his head from her. It would take a lot of groveling to make up for having belittled him in front of his sovereign, and Hubert Norris.

  “Have you seen enough, Your Majesty?”

  Elizabeth nodded her approval as Kit pulled his doublet over his broad shoulders and tied up his points. “I have to say it, Kit Ludlow—you never cease to entertain me.”

  “I had not meant to be your fool, Ma’am, although I say that with the greatest respect.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand the pride of men—though it is oft misplaced.” Elizabeth clapped her hands decisively. “I decree honor has been satisfied, and I shall put it about that Anne Lacey’s claims are groundless. We will consider the matter now settled.” She waved Alys and Kit forward, so they were standing side by side, her expression becoming grave. “My thanks once again to both of you for your efforts to preserve your sovereign. I can only hope any traitors that remain uncaught will not long escape Walsingham’s vigilance. I advise you both to be careful while you remain at court, and circumspect about what you say, and to whom. Anon.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Was that really necessary?” Kit asked as soon as he and Alys left the audience chamber.

  She blinked at him. “You’re not pleased, then, that your name has been cleared?”

  He supposed he should be, but he’d been humiliated in front of Good Queen Bess, and it would take a while for the sting to ease. “I always knew there was nothing to Anne’s claims—there has been no stain on my conscience.”

  Alys pulled him to a halt. “I don’t understand. She lied about you. You were banished, given a dangerous task for which you might have paid with your life, when all the while you knew yourself guiltless? How could you not speak out?”

  “Not here.” He edged her into a side passage and glanced around to ensure it was empty of interested ears. He must have looked fearsome, for she took a step back.

  “Nay, don’t be alarmed by my wrath. What manner of man would hurt the woman who holds his heart in her keeping? My ire is neither for you, nor my queen, but for that interfering ape Norris. Why did it have to be him who must come in and catch me at such a disadvantage?”

  Alys laid her hand on his arm, stroking away the tension in the muscle. “I would not say you showed to disadvantage, sir.” Her voice was a seductive purr. “In fact, I would say you were more impressive bare-chested than with your doublet on. Anyone could see you needed no padding to make yourself appear a man.”

  Perfect. She was teasing him, all good-humor restored. Perhaps now, finally, they could rediscover the good accord they’d lost.

  Except for a most untimely interruption. A servant came thudding down their passageway, bowed, out of breath, and handed Alys a folded piece of paper.

  A hundred ills upon the messenger’s head! He’d been about to steal a kiss. Something to seal the victory he hoped he’d won, something to prove he was right to hope.

  “What is this?” Alys caught at the man’s sleeve as he turned to go.

  “I know not, lady. It was among the day’s dispatches, and is addressed to you.” She turned it over. “There is no seal.”

  “I can assure my lady the letter has not been opened.” The messenger kept his eyes lowered. “It is not my place—”

  Kit laid a reassuring hand on Alys’ wrist. “Go on your way, fellow. The lady thanks you.”

  “I can answer for—”

  “Later.” He pressed a firm finger against her lips. Her rich, tempting lips. He moved around to shield Alys from an
yone watching. Their kiss was long overdue. “You can read your letter later, too. We have things to discuss, you and I.”

  She was still looking at the letter. Damn it all, she was supposed to be looking at him, thinking about him. For he could think only of her.

  “Who would send me a letter? Who knows that I am here?”

  He wanted to shred the letter, trample on it, and then set fire to it. It threatened to completely ruin the moment for which he’d waited so long.

  “It’s from Kate. I know it is.” She gazed up at him, uncertain, confused. “Oh, what can she have to say to me? I hardly dare unfold it.”

  “Then don’t. If you believe it’s from her, pray, give it to me. She has no business writing to you—she’s a prisoner under sentence of death in the Tower. She will have used underhanded means to get this to you—she is not to be trusted.”

  “I must read it. But I do greatly fear what she will say.”

  Before he could voice his disapproval, she’d opened it and scanned the page. Unease cooled his ardor. The kiss would have to be postponed. He hoped his aching heart could cope with the wait.

  The color leached from her cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her midriff. In an instant, he had an arm about her waist, holding her up.

  “Is it from Kate? Show me.”

  Guileless, trusting, she handed him the letter. Ice drove through his body as he read the hurried scrawl.

  “Dear Coz,

  That you have done me wrong I will not tax you with because I know you know it. It is not too late to amend matters and seek my forgiveness. I know not what mad envy or jealousy led you to break the tie of family that unites us, betraying me to blind justice and a capricious queen. I have done wrong, I confess it, but it was not by design but by coercion. I can say no more now, only I beg you by all that is holy, to come to me here and hear my confession. Then you will know that I have been wronged and can intercede for me with the queen. Only come, and I shall chide you not. Fear is great in my heart. When all is still and quiet here, I can hear the screams and sounds of agony from the interrogation chambers where Thomas and Richard do suffer.

  I have the means to reduce their suffering. I know the name of the leader of our ill-fated plan, a name which neither of the men will ever utter. But I know it, and I will tell it to you, only be sure that Bess will pay me well for this name. I pray you will ask her to spare me.

  Only come to me in the Salt Tower where I am held, and we will make our peace with one another.”

  He read the letter a second time, his thoughts growing ever darker. Kate Aspinall was a Machiavellian manipulator, exploiting Alys’ compassionate nature, adding the sop that she had information. Which was probably a lie.

  Alys tugged at the letter. “I must tell the queen immediately!”

  He pulled it gently out of her grasp and folded it up “No. Walsingham must have it.”

  “Why? Why must it go to Walsingham? It is not he who could pardon Kate, only the queen.”

  He doubted Kate would receive a pardon under any circumstances, but if Alys still hoped for it, it would be churlish to disappoint her. But she must understand there was no point taxing Elizabeth with this—yet.

  “Walsingham needs to discover how this letter made its way out of the Tower—it could give us a vital clue to the identity of the remaining plotter. Walsingham won’t go on Kate’s word alone, not when she is bargaining for her life. People will say anything. But if Kate names the same person who smuggled this letter out, there might be cause for leniency. Walsingham will put your cousin’s case before the queen when the time is right.”

  Alys’ pallor had given way to high color, and she stepped away from him. “She wants to speak to me, not Walsingham.”

  “It is far too dangerous for you to go. You know what these people are capable of.”

  “You could come with me—it cannot be far from Hatfield to London. Surely on a fast horse, it wouldn’t take more than a day? Half a day?”

  “If Walsingham thinks it a good idea, then certainly. Though I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Memories of seeing her struggling on the floor with Richard Avery on top of her assaulted him, as he remembered the sick feeling of dread that he might not be able to rescue her in time. Could he put himself through that again? All he wanted to do was keep her safe, by his side. Always.

  He stroked a finger the length of her cheek before pushing her chin up to look at him. Yes, he could see the storm building in her eyes. He loved her fire, but for her own good, it needed to be redirected. Preferably into passion.

  “There are few requests you could make of me that I would not fulfill. But to take you to the Tower to speak with your cousin is something I cannot do—unless Walsingham approves the scheme. We must find him immediately.”

  Her head whipped back. “Walsingham? Walsingham? Is he still your master then, even when your name has been cleared and your reputation mended? Fie on you. I thought you had more backbone than that, that you could make your own decisions.”

  He felt as if he had been struck. A thousand ripostes charged through his mind, but he couldn’t stand here in a passageway, wrangling with Alys when there was a chance of catching a traitor. And thus, keeping everyone safe.

  He bowed stiffly. “I am sorry you think that of me, but I shan’t change my mind. I’m going to speak to Walsingham.”

  Then he strode quickly away without looking back.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Alys clutched at the carved timber studding behind her. What had she done? In a moment of chagrin, she’d spoken words intended to wound, to rend the heart Kit had so recently given into her possession. She’d been too harsh… would he forgive her? Alas, even from a prison cell, Kate still had the ability to blight her life.

  She must follow him, go with him to Walsingham if she must—at least feel she still had a stake in what happened to Kate. But she’d barely taken a step when a hand on her shoulder held her back.

  “Master Norris.” She managed a wobbly smile, but her heart was pounding. “God give you good day.”

  He had no answering smile. Instead, he grasped her arm and hustled her through the nearest door onto the lawns. “Come, smile, look cheerful so none will know the serious business we speak of.”

  “What business?”

  “You have a letter. What have you done with it?”

  He must have been watching them. Had he heard everything? She would die of shame.

  Where was the letter? Ah, Kit had taken it. “I have no letter.” It was none of the man’s business.

  His fingers bit into her arm as he led her onwards, away from the courtiers on the lawn. “I overheard it all, Mistress Barchard. Believe me, I am your friend and wish only to help you. Ludlow may not be aware of how you feel, but I have a much greater sensitivity. I will do everything in my power to bring you to your cousin. But we must move fast if we are to steal a march on the spymaster. Do you have anything valuable?”

  A curious question. “Very little. Why?”

  “We’ll need it for bribes. Never mind, I shall bring my purse. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

  “You mean you will take me? Today?” Even now, the torturers might be starting their interrogation of Kate. Every second counted.

  “What better time for it? Ludlow will keep Walsingham otherwise occupied, the queen is busy in her audience chamber, and everyone else is outside, enjoying the fine weather. No one will question our going out for a ride. And just think how pleased Elizabeth will be when you return with the identity of the final conspirator. Why should Walsingham have all the glory? Go now and prepare, and I’ll meet you at the stables.”

  Alys left Norris and hurried back to her chamber. Her breath came in short, anxious bursts as she hunted down as much jewelry as she could find—which was depressingly little—and the small amount of coin she’d brought with her. It was most generous of Norris to offer to assist with the bribes—his help could not have been more timely. When her eyes fell on a
n unopened bottle of wine on the table, she collected that too—it could be used to sweeten the gaoler, mayhap, or be saved for Kate. She wrapped it in a cloth and tied twine around it, then sped towards the stables.

  Norris was not long in coming. He’d thrown a long black cloak over his rich court clothes, and his saddlebags were bulging.

  Her heart sank. “Is it such a long way then? I haven’t brought any luggage.”

  “Nay—these are comforts for the prisoners. I brought a cloak for you—keep the hood well up that you be not recognized. You wouldn’t want to arouse Elizabeth’s wrath, would you?”

  Nor Kit’s. “I know the need for secrecy.” She donned the cloak.

  It was a long and tedious ride. Despite the busyness of the roads and the interesting places they passed, the journey held none of the anticipation, none of the pleasure of her customary rides into Cheyneham. Norris’ urgency had been replaced by a nervous tension which communicated itself to her, so she was jumping at every sound of cart wheels or horses behind them. Was there any way in which she could conceal this journey from Kit? He’d be furious with her for thwarting him.

  Much of the journey was spent at a jarring gallop, so keen was Norris to reach the city before dusk. How fortunate he’d offered to assist her—he knew every back road, every byway, keeping them out of sight as much as possible. She pondered on his need to be so devious—he was a powerful courtier, and his position was assured. The only person likely to wish him harm for this escapade was Kit. In truth, she suspected he was doing it largely to infuriate him—or to rouse his jealousy.

  Seeing Norris muffled up in his cloak reminded her of the man who’d dropped the rosary bead. Kit had been so angry then, she thought he suspected her of being a traitor. He’d certainly think her a traitor now, but if she could get that name for him, surely all would be forgiven? It cut her to the quick to think he might shut her out once again. She must not allow that to happen.