In a low voice, I told Kate my story, starting with how I’d been brought as a babe to the Dudley household and raised to be their servant, neglected and disdained until I was summoned to serve Lord Robert, the most dangerous Dudley of all.
“When he came to the castle to escort me to court, Shelton warned me to do as I was told, to be a faithful servant and never betray the family on whom I depended for my survival. He said my fealty would be rewarded. But then I met Elizabeth. Then I was hired by Cecil to spy on Lord Robert and help her, and everything changed. I unraveled the mystery of my birth. After twenty-one years of believing I was nobody, I discovered that I had royal blood in my veins.” I went silent for a moment. Then I said haltingly, as Kate drew in an incredulous gasp, “My mother was Mary of Suffolk, Elizabeth’s aunt. I am a Tudor.”
I had never said these words aloud, and I saw the impact of my revelation spread across Kate’s face. She raised a trembling hand to her chest, touching the jewel. “How-how did Shelton find out?” she finally uttered. “How is this jewel connected to it?”
“Shelton delivered the jewel to Mistress Alice.” I came to my feet. I couldn’t stay seated anymore. “He had served the Suffolk household long before he entered the Dudleys’ service. That leaf is part of a larger jewel, which was broken apart after my mother’s death; she bequeathed its leaves to those she thought she could trust. But Mistress Alice had already fled with me to the Dudley castle and let it be known I was a foundling. Shelton must have spent years searching for her. And when he found her, she told him about me.”
“But why would she have told
I forced myself to shrug, though her question pierced my soul. “My mother had concealed her pregnancy from everyone save Alice; when she died, Alice took me away to hide me. I believe she did it to protect me and my mother, to keep secret that a Tudor princess had given birth to a bastard.”
“Dear God. And you’ve known this, all this time. You’ve kept it all to yourself.”
“I had no choice. Don’t you see, Kate? That jewel may prove my birthright, but it’s too dangerous to reveal- for all of us. A bastard is of no account, but if anyone thought I was legitimate…” I shuddered, turning away from her.
“Do you think Shelton knew who your father was?” she asked softly.
“If he did, I’ll never know now.” I cleared my throat. “I never wanted any of this. If I could, I’d undo it all. I’d rather be a foundling than this … this creature of shadow.”
“You are not a creature.” I heard her skirts rustle as she stood. I felt her hand on my shoulder. Desolation filled me.
“I do not ask you to live with this,” I whispered. “It is too great a burden, I know. The children we might have together … they will never be able to claim a family from me. Even my name is a lie. It means nothing.”
“Let me decide what I can and cannot bear. Brendan, look at me.” I turned about to face her. “Never let me hear you say that again,” she said. “You are the man I have chosen to spend my life with. You are strong, good, and honest. You are all a child needs in a father.”
Tears burned in my eyes. I drew her close, and as I held her against me and breathed in her lavender scent, desire for her overwhelmed me. I longed to ravel my hands in her hair, uncoil it from the net at her nape to let it flow like dark honey over her naked shoulders. I longed to strip her of her clothes, to see her arch beneath me with breathless abandon, taking me deep inside her. I wanted none of the sordid intrigues and terrors of my past or the court to ever touch her again.
“I love you, Kate Stafford,” I said. “I love you with all my heart. I only want to be yours, forever. If you ever find reason to doubt me, remember that.”
She kissed me. “And I love you, Brendan Prescott, even if you hide too much.”
* * *
After supper, Cecil and I retired to sit together before the fire.
Nursing a goblet of hot cider, his pale eyes turned strangely opaque in the flickering interplay of light and shadow, he said, “Will you do as I ask?”
In response, I extended the sheaf of reports, rebound with the cord.
“No questions?” he asked, with a hint of surprise.
“There isn’t much to ask, is there? The bulk of those reports details events at court, as you said. They might be entries from the ledger of any master of ceremonies or clerk; there’s nothing to question, at least not visibly. However, there is one thing I noticed besides the secret warnings.” I took a moment, watching him. He was fully capable of omitting important details. He had done it before. I didn’t want to consider that he might be engaged in one of his double ploys, not in this case, but my suspicion of him could not be quelled so easily. I had to be certain.
“Go ahead.” He took a sip from his goblet. “I can see the doubt on your face. You’ll have to master that trait. At court, everyone is an expert at reading others.”
“Edward Courtenay,” I said, “Earl of Devon. Your informant mentions him several times, in association with the princess. Why?”
Cecil smiled. “You are indeed a born intelligencer.”
“It’s hardly proof of my skill. Anyone who read those reports would ask the same. So, who is he?”
“A last survivor of the royal Plantagenet bloodline. Old King Henry-who could smell a foe at a hundred paces- imprisoned Courtenay as a boy in the Tower. He also beheaded Courtenay’s father. Henry proclaimed it was because of the family’s refusal to accept him as head of the church, but in truth he feared Courtenay’s claim to the throne. One of Mary’s first official acts as queen was to order Courtenay’s release. She also gave him a title. In fact, she’s shown him significant favor.”
“Does that make him ally or threat?”
Cecil’s brow lifted. “Denied so long his royal privileges, or what he believes are his privileges, I should think that royal favor or no, our earl must nurse plans of his own. Indeed, if rumor is to be believed, he was offered as a possible spouse for Mary, but she rejected him due to his inexperience and youth.”
“Are you saying that he could be plotting against the Hapsburg marriage?”
“I’m saying he is one of the mysteries you need to investigate.” Cecil’s voice darkened. It was the first time he had let his frustration openly show that he was so removed from the undercurrents at court. Times past, he’d have put two or three agents on Courtenay’s trail, to report on his every move. “If Courtenay is plotting, it will not be overt. Remember, Mary has yet to make official announcement of her intent to marry. Whatever Courtenay intends, he’s planning it in secret.”
“But Renard must be watching him.” I had started to recline in my chair when I saw Cecil’s hand tighten about his goblet. The movement was fleet, almost indiscernible, but the moment I gleaned it, I understood. “God,” I breathed. “You’re still testing me. You’re sending me to court because you fear Renard’s suspicions about Elizabeth could be true.”
He let out a terse sigh. “The possibility has crossed my mind. I hope I’m wrong. In fact, I pray for it. But the fact that Elizabeth’s name is linked to Courtenay is not an auspicious sign. Of course, it could mean nothing. Their friendship could be the natural outcome of two persons of import who have found themselves thrown into court together. They’re not too far apart in age. He’s twenty-six, six years older than she. It could all be perfectly innocent.”
“Or it could not be,” I countered. I hesitated, regarding him. Sometimes I forgot that few of us knew Elizabeth as well as we supposed. It was part of her charm; she could make anyone feel like her intimate, when in fact she hid her true nature in enigma. “Do you actually believe she’s capable of plotting against her own sister?” I asked cautiously.
He gave a dry chuckle. “When it comes to Mary and Elizabeth, nothing would surprise me less. You’d be hard-pressed to find two women more disparate, let alone two who are sisters. I fear they’re fated to become mortal enemies. Battle lines are being drawn even as we speak, with Mary on the one side, determined to wrest the realm from heresy and bind us to a foreign power, while Elizabeth is on the other as her heir, the last hope for an independent land beholden to the Protestant faith. Which one shall win?”
His voice quickened, imbued with urgency. “If Elizabeth is involved in Courtenay’s plot, she must be stopped before it is too late. Like her, I’ve no wish for us to fall prey to Spain and the Inquisition, but unlike her, I’ve lost the impetuosity of youth. Elizabeth fails to realize that Mary nears her fortieth year. Even if Prince Philip manages to get her with child, she may never carry it to term. Without an heir of Mary’s body, Elizabeth can be queen. We can guide her to her destiny-you and I. But first, we must keep her alive.”
