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 interest. 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 where 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.
Ned pulled open the door. Kit peered out over the false lordling’s head. Sure enough, the moon’s bright light gleamed upon the faces of the waiting men. Anne and Andrew stopped just outside the door. John and Ned spread themselves across the doorway to shield Kit as he ducked and crept out behind them. When he was ready, his breath drawn for the run, he tapped the big man on the shoulder.
“Now!” John bellowed, lunging around Anne to catch one of the men. Ned leapt out on the opposite side. Kit saw no more than that as he was racing down the length of the waterfront building. The bailiffs’ shouts echoed after him, loud enough to set shutters to banging against the wooden walls as courtiers and their servants peered down on what went forward in the courtyard.
These residences were much like London townhouses, being tall and narrow, each with its own sharply peaked roof and doorway. Down the wee lane between two banks of buildings, Kit went. He didn’t slow until he reached the door to the residence allotted to Jamie. Gasping for breath, he pounded on the door. He dared not shout, for fear of drawing attention.
There was no response. Christ! What if Jamie wasn’t here? He threw himself against the door, only to find it barred. That meant someone was inside.
From the far end of this stretch of dwellings came the ringing echo of a running man’s gasping breath. One of the bailiffs had escaped his captors. Again, Kit pounded.
The door flew open. Jamie’s servant, Tom Lowndes, stood in the opening. Dressed in only his shirt, his fair hair sleep knotted, Tom yelped in surprise as Kit shoved past him, slammed the door then dropped the bar.
“Master Kit,” the man cried, only to have Kit grab him close and cover his mouth to still his tongue.
“In a moment, Tom,” Kit whispered then listened.
Whoever followed ran on by without pausing. Releasing Tom, Kit turned his back to the door to survey the residence. The room was so tiny that Tom’s bed, naught but a simple mattress with a blanket, nearly reached from wall to wall. Two more mattresses, occupied by Nick’s staring footmen, filled what space remained. At the far end of the room was a stair, although to call it such was unfair to all fine and true stairways. This was more a ladder leading to the upper chamber.
Standing at its base, caught in the circle of his candle’s light, was Jamie. Like his servant, Jamie wore naught but his shirt. However where Tom stared, Nick’s steward grinned.
“Well now, Kit, to what do I owe the honor of your visit? If you’ve come for a bit of a loan, you’re wasting your time. I’ve already tried and been rebuffed.”
Kit frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“Prior to having the title restored Nick wished to see your debts repaid. I fear the lady won’t take your coin, Kit. It’s your hide she’s after.”
Kit’s heart dropped through the floorboards. If he and Anne hadn’t been doomed before, they were now.