away, cradling his wrist; he didn’t even try to go for the other dagger. Apparently I’d inflicted damage.
He grimaced and jerked his chin at the side table. “I–I need wine. My arm hurts.”
“This time,” I said, “let me pour it.” I yanked his doublet off the bed and threw it into a corner. Then I motioned him to sit on a stool by the bed, keeping my gaze on him as I poured from the flagon. He took the goblet gingerly, his wrist already starting to swell. In an hour at most, he’d be in severe discomfort.
“You’ll need to get that treated,” I told him. “Ice is best. Lucky for you, there’s plenty of it.” I paused. “Tell me about your friendship with Robert Dudley.” I went tense, anticipating his reaction; all I received in return was a scowl.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“I’d reconsider if I were you. I overheard you, remember, in the passageway with the princess? I know you’re working with Dudley. I also know the queen rejected your suit to marry her, which gives you plenty of motivation. What I want to know is what you plan.”
Panic flashed across his face. “You’re mad. We’re not planning anything.”
“No? Then perhaps you can explain why you’re scheduled to deliver a book to Dudley with a letter from Princess Elizabeth hidden inside it?”
He couldn’t contain his startled gasp. “How-how do you know about that?”
“She told me. Oh, and she wants her letter back. In fact, she insists on it.”
He recoiled, even as his tone turned belligerent. “She insists, does she? She thinks she can change her mind and I’ll get her letter back from Dudley, easy as that?”
I went still. “What do you mean by that?”
He gave me a malicious smile. “I mean it was delivered today. Dudley’s been waiting for it, and he isn’t going to change his course just because she’s had a pang of regret. He knows what is coming. He knows the moment the queen announces her betrothal to Philip of Spain it’ll be the end for him and his brothers. Renard will demand the head of every traitor in the Tower as a wedding gift.”
I went cold. “Why would he need a letter from her?
Courtenay shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I merely deliver-” I lunged, leveling my blade under his chin with one hand as I kicked his legs apart and grabbed hold of his injured wrist with the other. I twisted hard enough to wring out an agonized cry.
“If you think that hurts,” I said, “just imagine what the rack must feel like. You’re already marked, my lord, though you don’t know it. Though I secretly work for the princess, Don Renard hired me not a day ago to find evidence that would put you back in the Tower. And in my current mood, I’m thinking I just might oblige him.”
His eyes bulged. “Renard? He … he’s marked
“He believes you’re behind a plot against the queen. But we know better, don’t we? We know your friend Dudley is the real mastermind. So, my lord, help me and I’ll help you.”
His breathing turned shallow. Sweat beaded his ashen brow. He looked frantically past me to the door, as if he awaited some impromptu rescue. I was surprised myself that his beast of a manservant hadn’t barged in by now, if only to see if his master was still alive. Evidently Edward Courtenay didn’t inspire much in the way of loyalty.
I tightened my grip on his wrist. “I don’t have all night.”
“I already told you,” he gasped through his teeth. “I don’t know anything-”
I twisted again; this time, he let out a piercing scream.
“Last time: What does Dudley plan?”
“No. God, please. Stop. I swear, I don’t know.” He was panting, his legs thrashing between mine. “He doesn’t confide in me. I just do as he asks.”
“What does he ask?”
“To gain Elizabeth’s confidence, that is all.”
I eyed him. “You’re lying.”
“No. Don’t!” Though I had his wrist and he was a mere half inch from being impaled under his chin by my knife, the pain must have grown bad enough for him to actually fling himself backward off the stool and go crashing to the floor. I had to let go and leap aside to avoid being tangled in his fall, looking down at him as he cowered at my feet. When he spoke, his tone was anything but repentant.
“You fool,” he said. “Kill me if you want to, but I can’t tell you anything more. Only Dudley knows what he’s about. I just convey his letters!”
The undeniable desperation in his avowal gave me pause. I didn’t trust him, not for a second. He could be lying through his teeth; he probably was, but he was my sole conduit to Dudley, and unless I was prepared to torture him, I had to strike a pact.
“Get up,” I said.
He staggered to his feet, his wrist hanging at an odd angle.
“Tell me about these letters. I assume you meant you both send and receive them? How many are there? Who does Dudley write to? Who writes back?”
He swayed where he stood, his cheeks sucked in. He was colorless. I feared he might actually faint. “Not many,” he managed to utter, a pinch in his voice. “Six or seven, back and forth, I think. I don’t remember. We hide them in different things; my manservant, he delivers and retrieves the parcels. All the letters were sealed. No addresses, just the names of shires written on them. I didn’t read any. I just did as he bade and waited here on the nights specified for the couriers to pick them up.”
He hadn’t read Dudley’s letters? If he was telling the truth, I couldn’t decide whether he was the biggest idiot I had ever met or the most naive.
“Which shires?” I asked tersely. “Think: Where did the letters go?”
His breathing was labored; the pain must be excruciating by now. “There was one for Sussex. Another for Surrey. Also Oxfordshire and Berkshire, I think. Suffolk, too. He arranged everything beforehand; I didn’t ask questions. Why would I? The couriers paid me. I sent half the coin to Dudley and kept the other half. Living at court isn’t cheap; my allowance from the queen barely covers my expenses.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “I can imagine. So you have no idea who those letters went to, but if Dudley arranged the delivery without you, he must have someone else working for him, to alert his recipients that the letters were waiting with you. Who?”
Courtenay let out a moan and staggered to the bed. He sat, grimacing. “How would I know? Do you think he lacks for eager menials? Any lowly guard or urchin who cleans out the bilge pits in the Tower will oblige a noble prisoner if he pays enough.”
I turned it all over in my mind, like the pieces of a disjointed jigsaw. Robert Dudley was not only receiving letters but sending letters out, to parties invested enough to ensure the earl’s silence through bribes. Those payments Courtenay sent must also furnish Dudley with the means to pay whoever he used to advance word to his conspirators. Not that any of this made me feel reassured. All those shires Courtenay had mentioned surrounded London, from north to south; Dudley must be hatching a conspiracy. From the sound of it, it was something big.
But what? How did Elizabeth fit into it?
“I must speak to him,” I said abruptly.
He gaped. “Are you mad? You’re nobody to him! Why would he tell you anything?”
“I’m not as much of a nobody as you might think,” I replied, and he flinched. “You’re going to get me inside the Tower. Or would you rather I reported what you just told me?”
“No.” He took a step to me. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. Only I can’t do it overnight. My manservant … he knows the right warders to bribe. He has to arrange it.”
“You have twenty-four hours. Your man should be able to find me.” I paused for a moment to let my words sink in. “If you even think of betraying me, believe me when I say Renard will get everything he needs. Do we understand each other, my lord?”
I turned to the door. He called out in a wavering voice, “Remember what you promised! If I do this, you’ll not let Renard set his dogs on me.”
I glanced at him. “Use ice. And refrain from riding for at least a week, lest that arm stiffens and you lose its use. I’ll send your manservant up to assist you.”
Wrenching open the door as he collapsed on the bed, I walked out.
