They were now in one of the tower rooms. She saw stout stone walls, a magnificent window overlooking the river, and a great hooded fireplace with a woman standing beside it. The thick door swung shut, and the key turned in the lock.
Norris turned to Alys… and struck her.
The powerful blow crashed into her jaw, slamming her back against the unforgiving stonework. Her head hit the wall with a sickening thud and, knocked almost senseless, she slid down to the floor, her stomach rising up in revolt. Through the mists of pain, she gazed dully at the pair before her. And discovered she’d made a fatal mistake.
There stood Kate, clothes stained and worn, her hair dirty. Her sufferings had left their path on her face, edging her eyes with dark shadows, wrinkling her brow with worry. There was a feverish look in her eyes, and her mouth was stretched wide, leering.
Norris took Kate in his arms and kissed her. She welcomed him, then stared past his shoulder at Alys, mockery on her face. Sick with fear and shock, Alys had no doubt these two were lovers. Norris’ hungry kisses soon gave way to a fevered exploration of Kate’s body as his lips moved down to caress her neck and breast.
Alys tried to struggle to her feet, but waves of nausea held her down. Norris turned at the sound of her whimper, his arm clamped possessively around Kate’s waist.
“Thank you, Mistress Barchard.” He bared startlingly white teeth at her. “You have given me everything I need.”
She leaned forward, her stomach heaving.
“No, you don’t. We can’t have you soiling that fine cloak I gave you.” He dragged the cloak from her, sending her sprawling against the wall. Then, as calmly as if Alys weren’t there, resumed kissing Kate.
Alys retched onto the floor, her gut in knots, her head buzzing. She remembered, with a clarity that killed all hope, that she had seen Norris before. He’d been swathed in a dark cloak, hurrying away from Selwood towards Cheyneham. He’d dropped a bead, which Kit had identified as coming from a rosary. He’d believed the so-called cunningman must be a Spaniard.
In that, he’d been mistaken. Norris was an Englishman and a traitor. And she’d just played right into his hands.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Alys drew a hand across her mouth, then wiped her sweaty palm on her gown. What did they have planned for her? Was this Kate exacting her revenge?
“Will you show me no mercy, Coz? I came here to help, and this is how you repay me.”
Kate thrust Norris away and stalked over to Alys’ corner as she tried once more to rise.
A hard slap of Kate’s hand knocked Alys to the floor again, where she sat in a miserable heap, head spinning.
“Mercy?” Kate stood over her, hands on hips. “I have shown you enough already. Who took you in when your parents died of the sweating sickness? I did. What a pathetic creature you were then. And still are. Good little Alys, God-fearing Alys, who felt so sorry for herself yet was more than happy to chide me for my actions.”
Kate whipped around and started pacing. “Despite the poor quality clay you were made from, I kept you occupied, taught you to how keep house, fed and clothed you as becomes a gentlewoman. But it was too much like hard work for you, wasn’t it? You thought me cruel, when all the time, I was deliberately shaping you into a woman of character, someone worth knowing. What did you know of life before you came to me? Nothing.”
Alys found her voice. “That’s not true, I—”
“Silence! Interrupt, and I’ll knock you senseless. You mewl about your sufferings, your penury, your lack of a husband, my behavior. Did it never occur to you that I might have suffered, too? For the loss of my husband, for the ungodly strictures put upon my faith by an apostate queen? A queen who would have been toppled—and the nation’s conscience salved—if it hadn’t been for you. Now Mary of the Scots will die, and England will be plunged into a bloody war—all because you were gulled by a milksop peer posing as a gardener’s boy. Hah! ’Twould be laughable were the results not so tragic.”
Her head swung back and forth as she spoke, like a snake eyeing up its victim, ready to strike the paralyzing blow. Fury at the injustice of Kate’s accusations brought Alys to her feet once more, ready to do battle, but Norris stepped between them, thrusting the cloak he’d lent Alys at Kate.
“There’s no more time for words—we must be gone. Cover your hair with the hood and pull it well forward of your face. I’ll deal with your cousin.”
Alys froze as he drew a slender dagger from beneath his cloak. Time slowed down and fear weighted her limbs as something covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. There were strange sounds in the room, but they seemed to be miles away, having nothing to do with her. All her senses were concentrated on that blade, that thin sliver of metal that dealt death in a single blow.
If only she’d brought a weapon when she left the court with Norris—she should have learned that much by now. Summoning all her strength, she thrashed about in his grasp, broke free and tried to run, but as in a nightmare, her legs would not support her.
Suddenly, the air was filled with movement and noise, and Kit was there, knocking Norris off his feet, and drawing a knife on him.
She took in a searing breath, then another. The nausea returned, fueled by the sight of Kit, locked in combat with
