His hand stopped moving, and his breath caught. Yet another barb. But he’d always known this was something he’d have to face. It would have been a boon if it could have been delayed, however. Ye gods, how he hated Anne Lacey.
“You may. I know not if she is there.”
“Am I to know the name of the damsel you dishonored?”
He had done nothing of the kind, only no one believed a man with his reputation. He had hoped Alys would see only the man he was now. “That is not important. I don’t wish to speak of something that still gives me pain.”
“I should think the pain was mostly the lady’s. It is her name that will be forever sullied, not yours.”
Now Alys was deliberately trying to hurt him. It was beneath her. Sighing deeply, he lifted her to her feet and walked to the window. “I will tell you about it, yes—but I don’t choose to speak of it at this time. The memory follows me like a shadow. My recent successes have banished that shadow, and I believe I have been sufficiently punished. It feels as if you wish to punish me more.”
“There should be no secrets between a husband and a wife.”
He grazed his fist against the stone mullion of the window, then flexed his fingers on the sill. “I did not say it was a secret. I simply hoped you’d trust me, and be prepared to wait until I’m ready to speak.”
Fire sparked in her eyes. “I must wait for you to be ready, yet you will not wait for me? You won’t give me time to bury my dead, and reconstruct a life you undermined?”
“My plan was to help you reconstruct that life—to offer the protection of my name to you in the aftermath of the trials and executions. I see my words have fallen on stony ground.”
Hurt fueled his anger. He strode towards her, took her by the elbows and glared down at her, but saw only stubbornness in her face. This was too much—he couldn’t bear her coldness.
“Where there can be no trust, there can be no love. Where there can be no love, there can be no marriage. I bid you good day.”
He stalked out of the room and left the house, feeling as if he’d been struck in the heart with a knife. As he marched into the stables, wondering what to do next, he realized walking out was the worst thing he could have done.
But to return now and take back his words, spoken in bitterness, would make him look weak. And he couldn’t abide having Alys think that.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The following week was a grim one for Alys. Kit had taken up residence in the village, and Rupert had taken his place as her protector. But despite his cheerful concern for her, he was no substitute for Kit. She wandered the manor house from room to room, tidying needlessly, struggling far too often with threatening tears. Kit had made her an offer that should have made her heart glad, yet she’d found fault with it, and they’d quarreled. Had she, in her loyalty and pride, scotched the only chance of happiness she might ever have?
Then Kit brought a message that they had both been called to court and that Rupert was to accompany them. Elizabeth, he explained, was currently residing at Hatfield Palace, where she’d spent much of her youth. There, she had received the news of her predecessor Mary’s death, and though she had visited the palace but rarely since then, apparently it still held a special place in her heart.
Alys tried hard not to panic. Queen Elizabeth was now in her fifty-third year and the twenty-eighth year of her reign. She had a fearsome reputation—grown men had been known to tremble before her displeasure. Like her father before her, her temper was said to be as hot as her flaming hair, although she was known to be gracious and generous to her loyal subjects. It was to be hoped the queen would be kind to the innocent, and cruel only to her enemies.
Would Alys dare ask her for leniency towards Kate? The idea of her cousin being publicly hanged or burned for treason made her flesh creep.
These uncomfortable thoughts were to be her principal companions the following day, as she began the next chapter of her life. She and Lettice, with their few possessions, none of which were grand enough for court, were loaded into a small, unsprung coach and, together, they bounced uncomfortably south towards Hertfordshire.
Kit had chosen to make the journey on horseback—and rode ahead, so she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of him. If only there were some way of knowing he cared more for her than for his mission, that he hadn’t just tricked her into falling in love with him so she’d help him unmask the conspiracy.
She sighed deeply, but before the melancholy thoughts could overwhelm her, Rupert brought his mount up close and called through the window, “We are now approaching Hatfield, Mistress. Would you like us to slow down so you can look?”
Nodding her assent, she pushed her head out of the carriage window. And gasped.
Laid out before her was a huge, red-brick building with smart gardens, and numerous stables and outbuildings. The outlying meadows were currently strewn with tents—to accommodate the court—and makeshift shelters and stabling for the horses and oxen which transported the queen’s household from place to place.
As Alys’ coach trundled into an inner courtyard, the noise hit her ears like a living being. Horses clattered in and out, goods were being loaded onto barrows, and shouting servants bustled to and fro. Elevated above the chaos, she spied colorful pennants fluttering from the tiled roof. It was like market day in Cheyneham—only richer and much more intimidating.
She smoothed her
