Kit’s jaw clenched. He mustn’t lose his head—Avery was bound to be lying. And if he wasn’t, he’d regret the day he was born. He smote at Avery’s arm, again leaving a trail of blood welling up through the torn cloth, and permitted himself a triumphant smile. The man would be distracted now, by the pain and blood.
“Cease, Ludlow!” came a new voice. “Take the traitor, men. We want him alive for questioning.”
Two men flung themselves at Avery, disarmed him, and held his hands behind his back.
Kit took a step forward and held his blade to the man’s chest, staring deep into his eyes, foretelling, without words, his future. Avery blinked and looked away.
The room seemed to hold its breath. Then with a great sigh, Kit flung his sword to the floor and turned his back. Pushing Avery from his thoughts, he turned to Alys, who was now standing. She looked pale and shaken, a great red mark and swelling on one side of her face.
“He hit you?” His voice was hoarse with disgust.
“I’ll recover, I’m sure. What about your arm? You were fighting as if there was nothing wrong with it.”
Sweet lady, to think of him when she’d been in such danger. She’d kept her head—she had more courage than some men he’d met, and he loved her all the more for it.
“I swear I was so angry, I’d forgotten I was hurt. The wound will probably need mopping up and bandaging again, but there’s time aplenty for that.”
He held her gaze and watched the color flow back into her cheeks. He held out his arms, and she sank into them, filling his being with joy. He held her, lightly to avoid hurting her, and felt the moisture of silent tears soak into his shirt.
It was too much. He held her away from him then and kissed the tears from her cheeks, wondering how he would ever be able to let her go. Eventually, someone coughing brought him back to his senses, and he eased away from Alys, still holding tight to her hand.
Richard Avery was no longer there. In fact, all the men had gone, save one.
“Alys.” Kit led her forward. “May I introduce you to Sir Francis Walsingham, Secretary to the queen.”
Walsingham bowed and took her hand, then assessed her with his astute gaze. She blushed under his scrutiny, and Kit understood she must feel at a disadvantage with her torn gown, bruised face and disheveled hair. Walsingham must have sensed this, for he immediately called for one of his men.
“Mistress Barchard needs the attention of a maid. See if anyone can be found to attend to her. Madam, you and I will meet anon.” Walsingham bowed, nodded to Kit, then strode briskly from the room.
Alys reached for Kit’s hand. As he clasped her fingers in his, she gazed up at him with a weak smile. “What shall I do now? Is there aught I can do to help?”
His mouth hitched up a fraction. “I rather think no more will be expected of you. Not by Walsingham, certainly. I, on the other hand, might still make some demands on your time.” He gazed around at the dripping walls and heaps of damp gunpowder. “I regret the damage done to your home. I fear it will fall to you to put the place in order. Seek help from Cheyneham—regrettably, all your present servants will need to be questioned before they are restored to you.”
“They’re being held? What of Kate, Hannah?”
“They were captured on the road heading north. They will be questioned, too.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed at the splintered paneling and the overturned furniture in Kate’s chamber beyond. “Aye, I shall amend the damage if I am at liberty to do so. But—” She hesitated, and he felt a tremor in her fingers. “What is still expected of you?”
“The danger is not yet passed. We still believe the plotters have an influential friend at court—while that person lives, none of us is safe. But as far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my duty and am a free man again.”
He grinned and took her in his arms again. Aye, he was free of his debt to the queen. Life could begin anew, and he’d make damn sure he made the most of it. With Alys.
“Be assured that I shall be by your side, my sweet, so long as you have need of me.”
And he prayed she’d have need of him for a very long time.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kit’s promise was to cause Alys several nights of troubled rest. Part of the reason for her sleeplessness, she had to admit, was the knowledge that he’d taken the chamber right next door to hers. The place where she slept, the one space in Selwood Manor she could really call her own, had been constructed cheaply, intended only for the personal servants of important visitors. The walls were very thin.
Try as she might, she couldn’t help but listen to Kit’s movements as he prepared for bed.
Even when she retired well before him, she still couldn’t resist the temptation to lie awake until she heard the sound of his door closing, the soft thud of his boots on the wooden floor, the creak of the bed boards as he lay upon them.
In his own house, Kit would have a body servant—someone to shave him and see to all his needs. Yet he’d lived as a gardener long enough to forget that a gentleman needed such assistance, and made shift for himself. She felt oddly proud of this fact; a lazy, effete gentleman—who did nothing but ensure his toilet and his manners were always correct—would have irritated her intensely. Perhaps it was because she herself had been forced to manage without personal servants that she saw this as a virtue in somebody else.
Though Kit was the main object
