rapped in a heavy woollen cloak against the chill, Grace Seldon waited in the shadowy courtyard outside the Black Gallery. Whatever danger lay nearby, it would not deter her; it would never deter her. Surely Will understood that by now.
Beside her, Nathaniel shifted anxiously. 'You will have me whipped and my wages docked for this, Grace. Go back to your room before you are seen.'
Easing off her hood, she tied back her chestnut ringlets with a blue ribbon, but her fumbling fingers only emphasised her irritation. 'Because I have a slender frame and a face that does not curdle cream, every man treats me like a delicate treasure to be protected at all times.'
'Will is only concerned-'
'Will is always concerned for me!' she snapped. 'We have both seen our fair share of tragedy and are stronger for it. I will not swoon at the first sign of threat.'
Nathaniel continued to look uncomfortable at her refusal to comply with the order he had been given.
'Besides,' she continued, 'you know as well as I that Will would no more punish you than hurt a dog.'
'I thank you for putting me on a level with a cur, Mistress Seldon,' Nat said tartly, 'but if I am not whipped, I will have to endure a day of his lectures and I do not know which I prefer.'
'You are right there,' she muttered to herself, adding, 'If he sent you to ensure I was well cared for, then it is because there is great danger.'
'Yes, that is the nature of his business.' Nathaniel sighed. 'You make my work very difficult, Grace.'
Will emerged from the Black Gallery alongside a man who lurched drunkenly. Nathaniel made to restrain her, but she dodged past him. Half stumbling in her haste, her hands went to Will's chest, and he caught her at the waist.
'Grace.' His eyes flickered towards Nathaniel, who pretended to scrub a spot from his shirt.
'You would deny me the opportunity to wish you well as you embark on one of your dangerous missions?' she said sharply.
'This is not the time for one of our lively debates, Grace.'
'Did you think I would lock myself away because you told me to?'
He sighed. 'No, Grace. You would never do anything I told you to do. I know that.'
'What, then?'
'These are dangerous times. I would see you safe, that is all.'
'From whom?'
'From yourself, mostly,' he said with exasperation. 'Your capacity for recklessness exceeds that of any other person I know.'
'You say reckless. I say fearless. I am not afraid. Of anything.'
'As always, this conversation goes nowhere, and I have urgent matters that require my attention-'
Calming herself, she chose the words she knew would stop him walking away. 'I could not say farewell to jenny and I have regretted it ever since. I will not be denied this by you.'
He hesitated, softened. 'I am not your sister.'
In the subtle attenuation of his smile, she recognised the ghost of his true feelings. 'You wear your masks well,' she said quietly, so no one else could hear, 'but I know the true you, as you know me. You are not my sister. Because you live still, and jenny is dead-'
The blaze in his eyes scared her a little.
'Dead, Will. I spent long months yearning for answers, like you, but I have slowly come to an accommodation. I still need to know who took her, and why, and then I can rest. Then we both can. On that warm, starlit night in Arden, by the churchyard, with the owls hooting and the bats flitting, you told me you had been given the tools to discover the truth, and you vowed to me that the answers we both sought would be forthcoming. I ask now, though you always say one thing with your mouth and another with your eyes: is this mission the one that will allow us to find peace?'
'No.' A moment, then: 'Perhaps.' Frustration laced his words. 'Jenny is in my every thought and every deed, Grace, but these things are not as easy as you would believe. Now-'
She caught his arm to stop him leaving, and though he feigned irritation, she could see his affection, though whether it was for her alone or for her long-gone sister she did not know. The drunken man watched their encounter intently, and then, out of embarrassment or boredom, dragged open the carriage door and lurched inside.
'Let me accompany you,' she pleaded.
'And do what?' he said incredulously. 'Carry my sword? Distract the enemy so I could more easily strike the killing blow?' His mockery was faint, but her cheeks still reddened. 'No, Grace,' he continued, softening, 'you must stay safe from harm's way.'
'You wish to protect me because you could not protect my sister,' she said defiantly.
'I could say the same of you.' He gave a confident smile, a slight bow, and walked towards the carriage.
'A fine pair we are,' she called after him, flushed with the heat of her frustration. 'Both trapped in a dead woman's snare and neither able to release us.'
As Will climbed into the carriage without looking back, Nathaniel hurried over. 'Make haste back to your room, Grace-I must depart with Will. These times are too dangerous to be abroad at night, even in the Palace of Whitehall.'
Nathaniel hurried to the carriage and soon the iron-clad wheels were rattling across the cobbles. Grace watched it leave with mounting defiance. She would never go as jenny went. Nor would she lose Will the same way, if it was in her power to prevent it.
CHAPTER 7
o some, it was a monument to the globe-spanning power of the Spanish empire. Others saw a tribute to the power of God, a tomb, a menacing fortress, one man's grand folly. San Lorenzo de El Escorial, twentyeight miles northwest of the Spanish capital of Madrid, was all of them. Within the vast mountain of worked stone, its vertiginous walls punctuated by more than twelve thousand windows, seven towers reaching to the heavens, lay both a palace and a monastery, temporal and ecclesiastical power in perfect union.
Cold, empty, echoing, the sprawling complex was a perfectly sombre reflection of the man who directed its construction: King Philip II. At a cost of three and a half million ducats, it took twenty-one years to build, with a floor plan that also had a secret face. Many believed its design was chosen in honour of its patron, Saint Lawrence, but the truth was that it had been constructed to echo the Temple of Solomon, as described by the historian Flavius Josephus.
Now Philip retreated behind its forbidding walls, cutting himself off from advisors and family so that his relationship with his God could be so much more potent. A distant, deeply introspective man who rarely spoke, Philip preferred to dress in black to show his contempt for material things. Always extremely devout, as the years passed he had become hardened, listening so intently for God's voice that he was ripe for direction from much closer quarters than heaven.
Inside the monastic palace, Spain's riches from the New World and the Indies provided great works of art- statues, paintings, and frescoes-the finest furniture, the most lavish building materials-coral, marble, jasper, alabaster. Yet the long corridors and lofty halls rang with an abiding silence that was only intermittently interrupted
