The Virgin's War (18 page)

He stilled. “What gossip?”

“That you're sleeping with the princess.”

For all that Kit knew such things were being murmured in shadows and corners, to hear it thus lightly spoken of shocked the desire right out of him. He stepped away from Lettice so sharply that her hands were left hanging in midair. He might have found her surprised expression comical if he wasn't suddenly, thoroughly furious.

“If you were a man, I would strike you for that. In point of fact, I have done so. No one speaks of Her Royal Highness in such terms.”

“I didn't mean anything by it. Heavens, do you think I care? I know what it is to be sold off into a marriage not of your choosing. Why should she not take her pleasures where she can?”

His hand had actually raised of its own accord, and Kit forced himself to drop it without slapping her. “Go. Now. And keep your mouth shut.”

His temper might have been disastrous with another woman, resulting in either tears or tantrum. But Lettice was not easily insulted. “You know where to find me when you want me. You might think me a foolish girl, but I am not wrong when I tell you the best thing you could do to serve Her Highness is to flaunt your presence in other women's beds.”

Kit was the one who stalked away, leaving the girl bemused and probably pitying behind him. If he'd been somewhere familiar, he'd have known where to go to be alone. But at Kenilworth, from sheer bad luck, he entered through what he thought was an unattended door into a side corridor only to walk straight into his sister.

On second thought, knowing Pippa, it probably wasn't luck of any kind.

Without a word between them, Kit shut his eyes and swore under his breath. Then he opened them. “Where is she?” he asked.

“I'll take you.”

She did not lead him to Anabel's privy chamber or bedchamber. Instead, he followed her to a quiet room, kept discreetly away from the bulk of the guests. Pippa's room, he knew at once. Well, Pippa and Matthew's.

Of course there was a bed in here, but Kit had never felt less like kissing Anabel than he did now. She stood at the window, her back to him, and waited until Pippa had left to stand guard before saying, “I always thought Lettice Wixom an uncommonly silly girl. But then, I suppose it is not her conversation that attracts you.”

“You told me to flirt,” he said. “Do you not remember it?”

“That was not flirting. If I hadn't sent Pippa to find you when I did, would she have had to look in Lettice's bed?”

“No,” he flared back at her, and that finally made her turn and face him. “Pippa found me coming back to the castle. Alone.”

He could see the whiteness of her face outlined like the smooth edges of a marble statue. But her eyes were not any sort of remote mask. Fury, fear, hurt…it cut through Kit's anger like a dagger.

“What,” he asked helplessly, “do you want from me, Anabel?”

“What do I want? Or what am I allowed to have?”

“My point exactly.”

They held like that for a few painful moments. Kit had the sense of a tipping point being reached. This could not hold forever. But he had hoped for a little longer.

“Come here,” he said softly, and offered her his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her to a bench. They sat together, touching nowhere but their hands. The bleakness of her expression told him that she had already anticipated his words. But they still needed to be said.

“There is nothing useful for me to do at Kenilworth,” he announced. “The best thing I can do for you and England is to fulfill my responsibilities as Lieutenant General of the Marches. I'll leave for the border in the morning.”

“Do you wish to be released from that responsibility?” she asked distantly.

“What do I wish…or what am I allowed to have?”

It had the desired effect of making her laugh a little. But her blue eyes were serious when she said, “If you ask it of me, I will release you from my service. I am certain the queen would offer you an equal appointment.”

“I've put in a lot of effort along the border. I think I can serve well there. But I will not come to your household unless necessary.”

“Fair enough. That should please even the most stringent of my critics.”

“Anabel, we should speak of what comes after. After the plotting, after the coming war…after the wedding.”

“Are you saying that your loyalty to me extends thus far and no farther?”

“I'm saying that your husband may have strong opinions about me.” Especially if James knew how the amber and dark rose scent of Anabel's perfume led Kit to imagine locking the door and making use of the bed behind them.

“It matters not. James of Scotland will run neither my household nor my court.”

“It
will
matter. You know it will.” If only because Kit didn't know if he was selfless enough to serve near Anabel once she was another man's wife.

“I am not a fool, Kit. I know that one day you will marry as well. And when I think of that, I believe I know how you feel about James Stuart. I don't know which I would prefer—that you marry a woman you can love, or that you marry one who will never give you what I could in friendship and devotion. That is selfish, I know it.”

“Not so selfish,” he murmured. He wanted to pull her closer, to rest her head on his shoulder. Instead, he traced patterns on her hand with his thumb while he spoke. “I've no doubt James Stuart is a good man. I do not wish you a life of misery. But the thought of him being allowed to kiss you…to touch you…that your nights will be given to anyone not me?”

Kit shrugged, the words painful to pronounce. “When I consider that, I understand why you were angry with me tonight. And I would like to vow that I, at least, will never marry.”

“That is hardly practical. Nor would I expect it. You are young, Kit. I would not condemn you to a lonely life.

“But could I ask you one thing?” she added wistfully. “A request, and not a royal one. Will you promise not to marry until after I do? I know we need to distance ourselves. I know it would be wise for you to be seen courting another woman. But I do not know if I will be strong enough to do what I must without hope. You are my hope, Kit. Always and forever. Even if it is a lost hope…will you let me keep it as long as I can?”

He could not hold himself apart any longer. He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. It was easier to speak without looking at her just now. “I swear it,” he whispered. “And no matter where I am or what I am doing…I will carry you with me,
mi corazon
. Always.”

As their time at Kenilworth Castle drew to a close, Anabel made a polite, if remote, farewell to her mother. The queen departed first, to spend one night with the Duke and Duchess of Exeter at nearby Wynfield Mote. Kit had already left for the Marches, leaving behind a buzz of gossip that confirmed the wisdom of his departure. Anabel had always known how to conduct herself with propriety, but it was noticeably harder to do so when her soul was rubbed raw.

In the early afternoon after her mother's departure, Anabel very publicly withdrew to her private chambers. Her ladies let it be known that she had a debilitating headache and had no wish to be disturbed. A short time later Philippa Courtenay Harrington left Kenilworth Castle as well, following her parents home with her husband Matthew in tow. They would return in time to accompany Anabel tomorrow on her departure north.

Three miles outside of Kenilworth, Matthew shot an oblique glance at the woman riding beside him. “Are you well, Your Highness?”

“Don't call me that,” Anabel shot back. “For anyone watching just now, I am your loving wife.”

At least, she certainly hoped so. The point was for Anabel and her mother to be able to speak freely without fear of watching eyes. It was important that they maintain the illusion of distance and a severe difference of opinion as to the ruling of England. It was Pippa who had come up with the idea of she and Anabel switching places—and if it was Pippa's idea, it argued that the plan would be successful. Once retired behind closed doors at Kenilworth, the princess had changed from her gown of heavy black silk into a chestnut-coloured one belonging to Pippa, with a dark brown safeguard as an overskirt to protect the gown while riding. Madalena had plaited and hidden Anabel's distinctive hair beneath a tight linen wimple and the folds of a heavy hooded cloak, and the princess had departed unremarked with Matthew at her side.

They covered the distance to Wynfield Mote in cold and silence and it was a relief to see the lights of the manor house that had given Anabel more hours of warmth and joy than any royal palace. She and Matthew crossed the moat to the interior courtyard, where they were met by Dominic Courtenay and ushered out of the cold.

Only once inside Wynfield's enclosing walls did Anabel throw back her hood and consign her cloak into Carrie Harrington's waiting hands. Then Matthew vanished with his mother and Dominic asked her, “Ready?”

“It is good of you to take these risks, my lord.”

He raised skeptical brows. “Risky to welcome both my present and future queens into my home? Most men would give their right hand for such an honour.” He looked wryly down at his own missing left hand and, surprisingly, smiled.

“But you are not most men, Lord Exeter. And my thanks to you are not as the thanks I offer to others.”

Still smiling, a little sadly, Dominic leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Let's get you to your mother so we can get you safely on your way back. I know my daughter—Pippa will find it difficult to stay confined to a single chamber while pretending to be you.”

The queen greeted her in the study situated at one corner of the quadrangular house. The fire was lit and the space small enough for a coziness unusual in the chambers inhabited by royalty. Elizabeth Tudor could never appear less than royal, but in this house she looked softer than elsewhere.

“Any difficulties?” she asked as Dominic ushered Anabel in and then closed the door on the two women.

Anabel shook her head. “Not on our part. And I don't anticipate anyone breaking into my chamber at Kenilworth to confirm I'm the one in my bed. As long as I can slip back in without being stopped, all will be well.”

“And if you cannot?”

“Then I let it be thought I summoned Kit to Wynfield Mote to meet me away from prying eyes,” she replied airily.

Elizabeth made a skeptical sound. “Let us hope it does not come to that. So, to business.”

“Tomás Navarro has been writing secretly to Philip Howard and other influential Catholics. Fortunately for me, the Earl of Arundel trusts my intentions more than he does those of a Spanish priest. For now. It is when Arundel stops passing on those letters that it will be time to worry.”

“We cannot afford to wait out this winter. Every day must prepare us for war. With the concentration of Spanish troops along the Irish coast, our months are numbered before they are headed to our shores.”

“How do you suggest I prepare the North without alienating Navarro and risking my new bonds with the Catholics?” Anabel asked.

“By playing on every Englishman's overriding prejudice—the suspicion of foreigners. It should not be difficult to provide Navarro an opportunity to overreach himself. I suspect his first move will be to co-opt your cooperation. I don't know how, but I promise you, at some point he will approach you with a deal the Spanish think will ensure your compliance.”

“Do I accept that deal?”

“That will be for you to decide,” Elizabeth said. “We both know that our chances of defeating Spain rise with each month—each day—we can preserve the fiction of our estrangement. The longer we can wait to spring the trap, the better.”

“The trap only works if the North is convinced of Spain's perfidy. It cannot be merely a religious war. It must be seen as a fight for England's survival.”

“And so it is. Do not ever make the mistake of forgetting that. You will know how to frame it, Anne. I trust your instincts.” Elizabeth drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “And if the Spanish are not so easily accommodating as to provide a reason for the North to revolt, then create one.”

“You are confident in your preparations in the South?”

“With Dominic leading the way? We are confident enough. Which is to say, in any fight we will almost certainly be outnumbered in terms of trained soldiers. But only if the Spanish can land. I trust our navy to ensure that does not happen. It will be up to you and your Wardens of the Marches to protect the northern ports. And your relationship with James Stuart should provide any extra men you need.”

“So it should.”

Her mother glanced at her sharply. “You are discontented?”

“No more than any royal woman unable to choose.”

Elizabeth waited, but when Anabel declined to elaborate, she shook her head. “None of this will matter if we fall to Spain. How much choice will you be allowed with the Inquisition in force amongst our people? Who might you be forced to marry in that case? It will hardly matter, because the Spanish will ensure whoever it is will take England's crown matrimonial and reign as king in your place. Is that what you wish—to be nothing more than a figurehead?”

“I assume you do not actually require an answer.”

“No. I think we are finished. Let's get you and Matthew returned before anyone does take it into their head to check personally on your health.”

Neither of them was much for sentiment, so Anabel was a little surprised when her mother walked out with her to bid farewell. But it was just as well, because there was the sound of running feet and then Dominic was at the door of the Great Hall, Minuette two steps behind him.

Elizabeth looked swiftly between them. “What is wrong?”

“Word from Carlisle. The garrison received a message from Lord Maxwell, in the Scots West March, about an unexpected landing at Dumbarton.”