Shrieking with fury, Kate leapt onto Kit’s back, locking her hands in a choking grip around his throat, trying to bear him down. He staggered and attempted to shake her off, but that brief distraction allowed Norris to sink his blade into Kit’s thigh.
As the blood spurted, Alys found a new strength, born from sheer rage that this traitor had spilled Kit’s precious blood. She picked up the wine bottle she’d brought, hurled herself at Kate and landed a crushing blow on her head.
Kate collapsed like a house of cards, and as Norris darted aside to avoid a blow from Kit, he tripped over her. Kit’s knife caught him on the cheek, slicing it open from chin to temple. Norris roared out in pain and, at the same moment, a host of armed men hurtled into the room. Recognizing them as yeomen and warders, Alys fell back against the wall, certain the ordeal was now nearly over.
Kit stepped away from his opponent, wiping his blade clean of Norris’ blood, a look of disgust on his face. The guard who’d been threatened with Norris’ knife dealt him a few bruising kicks before clapping him in irons. He shackled Kate, too, even though she was barely conscious.
But none of this really mattered. Everything blurred into the background as she stared at Kit, quailing at the look of betrayal on his face.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Kit, you’re hurt.” She pushed away from the wall and staggered towards him.
He brushed his hands down his hose and examined the wound on his thigh. “Not too deep. I shall survive for the moment. Excuse me—I have duties to attend to.”
Dispirited, she withdrew and gazed dolefully at the bottle of wine with which she’d downed Kate. Why not open it, and drain every last drop? Maybe it would dull the agony of knowing she’d been a complete fool, risking her life and her only chance of happiness. Would Kit speak to her again? What was she to do? She knew nobody here.
She waited in an unhappy daze while Kit called for paper and ink, scribbled a note, and instructed one of the warders to make sure it found its way to Sir Francis Walsingham.
Eventually, he gave his attention to her. “Thank you for your intervention, Mistress Barchard. Now, will you come with me?”
She nodded, feeling wretched, and he took her by the elbow and walked her along the walls and down through the Lanthorn Tower. When they came to a secluded corner, he pulled her under the shadow of an archway and turned her to face him.
“Did he hurt you?” His tone held no emotion.
“He punched me.” She felt her jaw—it ached like the devil, and she’d doubtless have a bruise for many days. She couldn’t go back to court looking like this. Especially not after she’d betrayed everyone’s trust and nearly allowed two traitors to go free. A solitary tear slid down her cheek.
Kit brought his hand to her face to wipe it away, and she gazed up at him, silently begging his forgiveness. He held her gaze for a moment, then removed his hand and looked away.
Desperate to regain his attention, she pointed to his thigh, bloodstained but no longer bleeding. “I think he has hurt you more. Kit, won’t you look at me? Tell me how you knew where to come, how you knew I was gone.”
His chest heaved, and he breathed a deep sigh. “I came to see you, but you were not in your room,” he said, still not looking at her. “Nor could you be found anywhere else. Then it was discovered that Norris had gone, too, without a word to anyone, and taking all his possessions with him. That made me suspect he might have been the one who smuggled that letter out to you, so I alerted Walsingham. I put it about that he must have abducted you, because you’d left your servant and your clothes behind, then hastened to the Tower, praying that would be your destination.”
He’d come to look for her, after the awful things she’d said to him. “Why did you come? We’d quarreled so bitterly.”
“That’s not important now. I should get you away from this place—you look unwell.”
The fact he’d gone looking for her rekindled a spark in her heart. “Why were you seeking me, when you’d turned your back on me, denied me your aid?”
He stood back and looked in her eyes, his expression hard. “Why did you do it?” His voice was a low growl. “Why, against all my warnings, did you take off with Norris to see your cousin? Could you not have accepted my judgment? Could you not have trusted me?”
She stared miserably up at him, stabbed with guilt at the pain his brown eyes. “You don’t understand. I had to see Kate—she’s family, she’s all I’ve got. I hoped I might reform her, gain her cooperation.”
Kit drew a fist across his brow. “You could have had so much more. I offered myself to you—I would have been your family, fought your battles for you, tended your hurts… but you wouldn’t have me.”
As she looked at him, she saw the light had gone from his eyes, and knew how much she’d wounded him. “Forgive me. I was a cursed fool, and I’m prepared to pay the price for giving Kate and Norris the chance to escape. But I beg you not to let that price be our friendship.” She laid a hand on his chest, tangling her fingers in the laces of his doublet. If he didn’t forgive her, she could never forgive herself.
For a moment, it seemed he might capitulate, then he removed her hand from his clothing. “I’ll hire
