Elizabeth smiled as she waved her hand gracefully towards her courtiers and guests. “Perhaps it amuses me to have them think so.”
His face must have been a picture, for when she turned to look up at him, she burst into spasms of most unroyal mirth. “Get thee gone, Ludlow. I do but jest with you. But on the morrow, I will hear the history of your dealings with Mistress Barchard. And if you think to leave out a single thing, you will be sent straight to the Tower and join the traitors you put there.”
Chapter Forty-Three
After a miserable night’s sleep, Kit breakfasted early, ready to tackle the day and do what he could to learn Alys’ mind. It was a fine summer morning, and those already up decided to spend it practicing at the butts. He’d no idea if Alys could shoot, but she ought to learn if she wanted to find favor—archery was a sport close to the queen’s heart, especially since her former tutor, Roger Ascham, had written a book upon the subject.
He collected one of his own bows and selected a lighter one to lend to her, but when he arrived on the sward, he saw she was already equipped and assisted. Norris was standing over her, and no sooner had she hefted her bow than he reached forward to raise her elbow.
The cur. He could already tell from her stance she was no beginner. Trust Norris to interfere where he was neither needed nor welcome. Kit walked nonchalantly closer, hoping to overhear their conversation.
Alys turned to Norris and asked if she was sighting straight. He immediately brought his cheek next to hers to look along the length of her arm, and she giggled.
Kit tensed like the bowstring stretched taut from her fingers. How dare Norris pursue her, especially after their talk last night? The man must be peculiarly dense. Perhaps he needed a little reminder of Kit’s skills and abilities. Well, he could start by demonstrating his skill with the bow.
As he watched, Alys made her shot. The arrow thumped straight into the target, although it was well shy of the gold circle at the center. She was good—he could see that. So could Norris, for he was patting her on the shoulder and nodding his stupid head smilingly at her.
Norris handed her an arrow, and another shot was set up.
“For God’s sake, man!” Kit growled under his breath. “You don’t have to adjust her arm every shot. She’ll lose her aim and have to set up again.”
He was so absorbed in his jealous observations that he didn’t notice the woman approaching until she was right in front of him, gazing up with a puppy-dog look in her eyes.
Anne Lacey. His nemesis. After the trouble she had caused him, he wanted no further dealings with her. Moving aside, he attempted escape but she placed an arresting hand on his arm.
“So cold, when before you were so hot?” She tilted her head at him.
Had she still not learned her lesson? How could she possibly imagine there was any hope for her after what she’d done to him?
Before he could speak, a loud cracking noise, followed by a feminine gasp, met his ears.
He looked at Alys, afraid her bow had broken and hurt her. But no—her arrow had flown below the target and struck against the wooden stand, where it had splintered into several pieces. Something must have made her lose her concentration.
Seeing him with Anne Lacey—he hoped. “What do you want of me?”
The girl pouted. “You don’t know? Have you never had any of those feelings that make one person cleave to another, that make the heart pound earnestly in the breast? No, I’m sure you have not, for you could have any lady you wanted, and need never suffer the pangs of love unrequited. But please take pity on me, even if you do not understand, for I find this coldness of yours more oppressive than I can bear.”
He tried to look as if he were enjoying this conversation. And tried equally hard to pretend he was not aware of Alys’ perusal. “I fear you have been reading Sidney again, lady. He has filled your head with foolish fantasies so that you no longer know the difference between true love and imagined.”
“Say not imagined.” Anne tugged at the sleeve above his elbow to bring his head closer to hers. “How can I imagine the heat in my belly that tortures me, and makes me thrust and thrash the whole night through?”
Kit’s eyebrows shot up, and he gaped for a moment. How did one respond to such a remark? Hopefully, no one had overheard. Especially not Alys. He attempted to maneuver Anne farther away from the butts. “I beg you, be not so hot. It ill becomes one so young.”
“I have suffered on your account, and you have suffered on mine. Now the game is in the balance. The stakes were high then—they could be higher still if you refuse me a second time. Nature forbids that all our sorrows should be wasted, so you will be my reward for the rending of my girlish heart, and I shall be the reward for your troubles.”
Kit disentangled her fingers from his sleeve—her words had too much threat in them for his liking. To punish Anne Lacey by using her to arouse jealousy in Alys was too dangerous a device. Alas—too late! Alys had set down her bow and quiver and was walking up to him.
He’d just have to see which way the wind was blowing and sail with it.
“How now, Sir Christopher. I trust you slept well?” She barely met his gaze but looked pointedly at Anne Lacey.
“You abandon your sport after very little trial.” His mouth quirked. “Have you such lack of patience today?”
“I have patience a-plenty.” Her eyes roved over Anne Lacey again. “Although it may soon wear out if
