Alys was left alone with Kit. And by the darkening of his frown, she could tell she wasn’t going to enjoy his news at all.
Chapter Fifty
Kit hovered near the bed, willing the telltale flush to subside. Alys looked unwell—he must deal gently with her. He would say no more, and no less, than he had come to say, and then the book would be closed, the story ended. He would return to his estates in Shropshire—and put all thought of her from his mind.
He stared down at her, waiting for some sign, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. That alone should be enough to tell him there was no hope for them, if he hadn’t known it already.
“I regret to tell you your cousin and fellow conspirators have been executed. It was considered too dangerous to allow them to remain alive, lest they become a focus for opposition to the queen. I am sorry to be the bearer of such hard news.”
He’d been too blunt—her face had grown even paler, in stark contrast to the dark, disordered hair that cloaked her shoulders. Despite her dejection, she found the strength to raise her chin and—finally—meet his eyes. His gut twisted.
“Thank you, Kit, for what you have done for me. I know that the lie you fabricated about us thwarting Norris must have cost you dear—I am aware how important your honor is to you. As for the executions, I’m no longer in any doubt that justice has been done. The generosity of the queen has been overwhelming. But I cannot accept the extra lands—I do not deserve them. You must tell me what to do.”
Was that a hint of moisture in her blue-grey eyes? He moved closer. Of course, he should have known how much she’d blame herself. To admit her folly in front of him took considerable courage. Yes, those were definitely tears. He’d far rather she didn’t cry—he hated to see her so humbled.
A brief vision crossed his mind, of that time when he had trapped her in the hedge maze at Selwood when she was berating him for not knowing his proper place. The memory made him smile and, for a moment, he felt as if the old Kit was back, a man who could laugh at the world, and mock it, whatever it tried to throw at him.
She must have mistaken the smile, must have thought he was exulting over her, for she slid down in the bed and pulled the covers up to her ears.
“I’m weary. I need to sleep some more.”
Her body was shaking, but the sobs were silent. Suddenly, after the emptiness of the past weeks, his heart began to feel again. Before, he’d had water in his veins, but now the hot blood had returned, filled with feeling and emotion. He reached out, stroking the trembling shoulder through the thickness of the blanket, ready to take her in his arms. But she cringed away from him.
It was too late. Of course, it was. Too much had happened—too many painful blows had been dealt to pride and belief. He must bring forward his plans to depart for Shropshire and just go. There was no point remaining where he wasn’t wanted.
He left as quietly as he’d arrived and strode towards the stables to see how quickly his horse could be made ready. But on arrival, he almost collided with Rupert.
“How now, good Sir Kit! By God, sir, but you look as miserable as a bawd with the pox.”
Kit waved him away. “I’m in no humor for conversation. And I have much to do.”
Rupert interposed himself between Kit and the stables and tapped the side of his nose. “I know what causes that clouded brow. A certain young female who has been in the wars of late.”
“Get yourself gone, Rupert. I’m in a hurry.” Kit dodged one way—Rupert stepped in the same direction. Irritably, Kit pushed him aside, but the fellow refused to budge.
“Not running away, I hope? Would you have her pine away?”
“It’s nothing to laugh about.”
“I’m not. I’m serious. I’ve seen the pair of you together. It’s high time you made up your quarrel, whatever it is. Between you, you’ve achieved great things—no such brilliant pairing should be torn asunder over quibbles.”
Kit clamped his hands on Rupert’s shoulders, subtly reminding him of his superior height and strength. “There is nothing more to be said. She doesn’t want me. I’m going home.”
Rupert smirked at him, eyes dancing. “The great lover, Sir Christopher Ludlow, rejected by a maid? There will be much rejoicing among the queen’s ladies, now that you are free again. But no.” His expression turned serious. “I have spent some time with Mistress Barchard and, being a good reader of character, know she is sick at heart. She has no one left but you, and whatever her attitude may seem to be at present, I’m certain she needs you.”
Kit gave him a shove. “And I’m certain she doesn’t.”
Rupert stepped aside and bowed. “Very well, if that’s how you will have it. But if you are to be leaving soon, pray quaff a jug of ale with me. And with some of the other youngbloods at Hatfield.”
Why was he so persistent? Anyone would think he’d been given orders to stop Kit leaving. Which was ridiculous.
His shoulders drooped. Perhaps a cup of wine would ease a little of his suffering. It would indeed be churlish to leave without making his farewells.
“Very well, Rupert, you shall have your way. Only, swear you’ll say no more of Alys, or try and persuade me to stay.”
Rupert’s eyes twinkled. “An excellent decision. I vow I’ll speak no more of Alys. But I can’t promise not to try and make you stay.”
Kit managed a chuckle, clapped his companion on the back, and turned back towards the palace.
Chapter Fifty-One
It was clear
