Perfect Shadows Part 14

"I am not pleased, Christopher." Geoffrey's voice was cold, but not so cold as my blood upon hearing his words. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. I did not have to wait long. "I have taken back your custody," he continued, "and not just because you have come here to Paris. Nicolas is clearly unable to provide the sort of discipline that your circ.u.mstances require; I am not. But neither am I unreasonable, and I understand your need for a measure of privacy. The gatehouse here is well appointed-you will keep your household there, unless, or until, you abuse this trust. For tonight, you will stay here, with me." Richard watched all this in silence, and watched me led from the room like an errant child bound for punishment. His expression was unreadable.

Richard was able to suppress his hostility and revulsion to women through sheer force of will, but found that sudden encounters would still leave him shaking and sick; his very beauty attracted exactly the sort of attention that he could least tolerate. We settled in, and Richard continued trying to teach me, now with slate and chalk, to read and write, with but indifferent success.

My household being too small to support my need for blood, not long after our arrival I had taken to prowling the Paris streets, both to accommodate my needs and to allay the growing temptation to take Richard. One dark night, about a month into our stay, I saw someone I knew.

Poley, with his mincing steps and faded finery, crossed a pool of lantern light and vanished in the dark, unaware that he was no longer alone. He had stumbled up the steps to his mean lodgings, was fumbling with the lock, when I quietly said almost in his ear, "Allow me," and pulled the heavy key from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He whispered my name as he recognized my voice, and knew that a dead man stood beside him in the darkness. He stood paralyzed just inside the door as I crossed the room to the meager fire and lit the candles with a spill from the dirty mantel. The soft light revealed his thoughts as it revealed my features: those of a stranger, or at least I didn't look like Marlowe, or not exactly, but there was a resemblance . . . Poley caught his breath in a ragged gasp as I turned my head and showed the eye patch that covered my right eye. "Well, well, Robin, how are the mighty brought low! Is this the best that Cecil can do for you?"

"M-m-marlowe?" Poley stammered, then slumped to the floor in a faint. I knelt on the filthy floor, and dragged him up until my teeth found the vein in his throat. I drank his blood, though the taste of it disgusted me, but I had to take enough to exert my will over the repellent little man. He woke again, and struggled against me, but his strength was no match for a normal man's, let alone mine. I forced his eyes to meet mine, charging him to remember this encounter as no more than a drunken dream. He would obey any command I gave him, and fall into trance at a word from me. I ordered him to sleep for a time, and before he woke I had gone.

I had arrived back at the manor in good spirits. Poley's being in Paris promised some diversion, at least. I joined Geoffrey in the Hall, delighted to see Hal lounging by the fire. He had arrived an hour or so after my departure on my night's adventure, and Geoffrey had invited him to the Hall to await my return. Hal had never actually met Geoffrey, only seen him at court from a distance, and seemed to be finding the man's physical presence somewhat overwhelming. I had seduced him: Geoffrey would need only to snap his fingers to have anyone he desired groveling at his feet. Hal didn't seem to know whether to be vexed or thankful that he presumably was not desirable. Geoffrey was well aware of the effect that he was having on my lover, and would have withdrawn but that he wished to speak with me.

I noted Geoffrey's savage amus.e.m.e.nt and Hal's sullen frustration as I joined them, my own amus.e.m.e.nt spilling out in soft laughter. "It is good to see you, Hal. You will stay in the gatehouse with me? I have had a chamber made ready," I added, catching a subtle movement from Geoffrey indicating that he desired Hal's absence at the moment. I arranged for a footman to take Hal across the grounds, and to settle his luggage, stealing a kiss in the shadows before sending him away.

"I have had a letter, Christopher, from Rozsa. She will be joining us here for the summer, and as this is her home, I can scarcely ask that she stay away. Your young ward-" he broke off, and I nodded gravely. I told Geoffrey that Nicolas had suggested the house in Brittany, should that prove necessary. We talked for a time of Richard, of his recovery, and the strain that his proximity was putting on my fort.i.tude. Geoffrey was at least sympathetic, having gone through something of the sort with Rozsa years before. "It is never easy, never, but these things have a way of working themselves out, given time, and time we have in abundance. And now, your Southampton is a man of ready wit, but little depth, I think. He has never had to fight, so it seems, and thus has weaknesses where he most should be strong. But there is good metal there, under the dross." Geoffrey turned his gaze from the hearth to me, piercing me with steely fire. "Go now to your guest, Christopher, though he will be but the companion of the moment-do not think that he would join us, for he would not. Indeed, I feel that he will break off with you soon now and that is no bad thing."

Those words came back to me a few weeks later. We had begun to spend most of our time pushing at each other, Hal and I, he vainly rebelling against my mastery, and I refusing to yield an inch. Richard had been the cause of no little contention between us as well, since we both found the boy attractive. The position that Cecil had arranged for Hal was largely show and make-work, and he, in his enforced indolence and boredom, had been playing at provoking my jealousy, idly and without much direction. Knowing that I desired Richard, Hal had set out to seduce the lad himself, but Richard had shied away from any intimate contact. He would need more time and effort than Hal was willing to grant him, even though it might provide his other desire: the destruction of his intimacy with me.

It was as if Hal were demon-ridden, I sometimes thought, for no sooner would a thing approach a certain completion or perfection than he would set about its ruin, helplessly and unable to stop himself, as well attested by the disastrous conclusion of his career at court. He was still drawn to me, and even as he longed to provoke me, he seemed to long also to placate me, and his ambivalence made him irritable.

One day he got a letter, tear-stained and incoherent, from London. He crumpled it and cast it blindly across the room, where it bounced off Jehan's muzzle, waking him from his doze by the fire. He got up and padded from the room to fetch me, and a few minutes later, still sluggish from the day's trance, I slipped in.

"You've had a letter? Is it bad news?" I yawned and apologized. I was preoccupied and stared into the fire fingering the place on my lip, cut by my own sharp canine tooth. I was uneasy about the way that Hal had kissed the cut, licking the blood away with seeming relish. Did that count as an exchange? A few drops, only? No, it was impossible. But I was uncomfortably aware that he took some few drops any chance that he got.

"I must go to London. Libby's pregnant, and the Queen has locked her away in the Fleet prison," Hal blurted, pacing, then turning on his heel to face me. "I will marry her," he stated defiantly, as if expecting an argument, but I had played these scenes more than once in my former life and recalled enough of them to know better. I merely nodded then poured the wine. I offered a gla.s.s to Hal, who took it from me with an air of unease that he was unable to completely hide.

"Her Majesty will certainly imprison you, an you do," I commented blandly.

"She may try! I will be back in France before she knows I was in England. You cannot keep me here, Kit," he added, the merest hint of a threat in his voice.

"Hal, I would not even try. I am, and hope to remain, a friend to you. All I ask is that you not burn all of your bridges, or at least, not spectacularly. It may be that you will have need of friends, and that sooner than you think." Hal strode from the room without a further word and I watched my retreating lover's rigid and angry back, then turned to the lesson that Richard had set me. It was useless, and worse, it was maddening, to stumble blindly through provinces where once I had flown, to live as an ignorant beggar where once I had been a king. I thrust the copybook aside and went across to the manor to speak with Geoffrey. We talked the night away, and I suppose that Geoffrey sensed my restlessness, for he commanded me to share his bed, as he ever did when he felt the need to rea.s.sert his mastery. When I woke the next evening, Hal had gone.

Within a week word had come from Robert Cecil of the events in London, and I, in Poley's chambers, pocketed both the cipher and Poley's translation. Poley himself sat slack-jawed against the far wall, his eyes white slits in his face, while I made free with his correspondence. I had appropriated the position of Lord Robert's confidant in Paris for Geoffrey, and he fed the English spider only such flies as he saw fit. Poley had reported the presence in France of the Sybrian exiles, and had been instructed to observe and recount our movements. This had gone on for weeks, with Poley unaware that the messages he sent had been prepared by other hands, indeed, unaware that he had a visitor at all. I folded the flimsy papers into a small purse and tucked it into my doublet for Geoffrey to read to me later. I made up my mind: I would take the shoddy little man back to the manor, and this night would be his last. I bound him hand and foot, gagging him with the filthy rag he used for a kerchief, then set off to hire a horse to carry him. I was d.a.m.ned if I would carry the verminous little villain upon my own horse.

It would be Christmas soon, and the snow lay already thick upon the ground, m.u.f.fling the horse's hooves. Poley had awakened before we reached the manor, struggling madly against his bonds for a few minutes before resigning himself. Rhys met us at the stable, taking the horses and vanishing into the dark building.

I slung my squalid burden across my shoulder easily and made my way into the cellars through the outside entrance. There was a little room there, caught against the foundations of an older building when the present house had been rebuilt. It was a somewhat damp and a bit airless, but I wasn't overly concerned with the little a.s.sa.s.sin's comfort, only with my own revenge for that day in Deptford, over seven years before. I dropped the man to the floor and took the candles from the serving-wench who had accompanied us to light the way. I perched the candles on the outcroppings of the rough foundation stones, and stood over my victim in contemplation. Poley struggled into a seated position, then gasped as he recognized me.

"Good evening, Robin," my smile was no more than a feral baring of teeth. "I see you remember me, after all. What else do you remember?" I stooped and plucked the gag from his mouth, letting it fall to the floor.

"What is the meaning of this outrage? I am an Englishman, and not to be treated so! I have friends, very highly placed friends, and-"

"You have no friends, Robin, and you never had. You are a tawdry twisted little man who has come to the end of his tawdry twisted little life. Did you think that you would never have to atone for the lives you warped and ruined? Did you think that you could explain it all to G.o.d, and he would forgive you? Well, perhaps you are right. You are certainly about to find out."

"Who are you?" Robin shouted desperately, "You're not Marlowe! Marlowe is dead!" I nodded agreeably, and took a step back from the man, closer to the candle, then removed the patch that covered my scarred eyelid. Robin gasped again, but said nothing.

"Marlowe is dead, Robin, undeniably dead, but I yet live, at least after a fashion. No," I cut off the spluttering protests, "I do not wish to know the whys of the thing, or how you were forced to do it, or even how I forced the council into moving as it did. It makes no difference, you see. You will die, and I will kill you. I've just not decided upon how, yet." That was a lie, though Poley could not know that. I would let the man stew all day, and break his neck quickly and cleanly the following night. "Of course, the precept 'an eye for an eye' offers a certain ironic symmetry," I added, tilting my head to listen to the crowing of a distant c.o.c.k, allowing the candlelight to fall full upon the jagged ridges of the heavy scar before turning on my heel and leaving the room, locking the door securely behind me. There was yet time for Geoffrey to read Poley's correspondence, if I hurried.

Geoffrey's voice was steady as he read, but my gorge rose at the crowing note in the terse tale of Hal's capture and imprisonment. He had married his Libby, there in the prison, and had thought that word could not be taken to the Queen before he himself was well on the road back to Paris. But Cecil's spies were legion, and the tidings had soon reached his ears. He then presented them to the queen as a perfect means to abate the objectionable earl's imagined influence on Ess.e.x, whose precarious position at court was obvious to every eye but Ess.e.x's own.

It scalded me to think of Hal imprisoned, though I had to admit that the romantic role of captive would probably afford him some little amus.e.m.e.nt, at least at first. Poley's latest message to Cecil had been little more than a wail of supplication, entreating the secretary to recall him to London, and employ him there. We altered the message, advising Cecil that Poley was going out of Paris for what might be a protracted time, and hinting at some momentous news he would uncover.

"Take your rest now, Christopher," Geoffrey ordered. "It grows late." I thanked him, and left. The late winter's dawn was almost upon me; I paused in the kitchens long enough to give orders concerning my guest, and reached my bed in the gatehouse as the shrouded sun rose.

Chapter 22.

As the door closed behind the madman who had captured him, Poley frantically sought a means to escape. The door was bolted and barred, and there was no window. Even the candles were burning dimly in that airless s.p.a.ce-the candles! He wormed his way up the rough stones of the wall to his feet. The candle was too high for his hands, bound behind him, to reach. He almost sobbed in his frustration. Desperately he knocked the candle from the ledge with his shoulder, but the fall put it out. He turned to the second candle, on a higher, but narrower ledge. Carefully he nudged it over with his chin, gaining a painful burn on his cheek, and filling what air there was with the stench of his burning beard. Not daring to breathe he backed away. His luck returned to him, the candle guttered for a moment, then the flame burned high in the spilled grease. He tried to ignore the blistering pain in his wrists, and the sweat that ran into eyes, but the pain was unendurable and he jerked his hands from the flames. The sudden strain parted the strands that held him.

One of the servants came in then bringing the prisoner a tray to break his fast, but when she pushed the door open he fell on her, s.n.a.t.c.hing the heavy tray from her hands and hitting her hard with the edge of it. She fell dead, her slender neck snapped like a flowerstalk, and he made his escape into the vast park surrounding the manor.

Poley had set off for the gates even as an unearthly howling broke out behind him, only to lose himself in the blowing snow. It was no more than a half hour before he found himself in a clearing in the wood, and realized with dismay that he was lost. He hadn't seen the grey shapes that followed him, circled and surrounded him, until one of the wolves darted in and nipped at his calf, where his hose was thin and torn. He had seen them then, so many shadows in the snowy air, and he screamed. As if they had been awaiting that signal, the pack closed in, and the smell of death had filled the air as the dying man's blood scalded the snow. Soon the wolves drifted away, leaving nothing to show what had occurred but a few sc.r.a.ps of rag and bone, and a patch of b.l.o.o.d.y ice, soon covered by the fresh falling snow.

Chapter 23.

When I woke that night, Richard was waiting there at my bedside. He had an ugly tale to tell in answer to my unspoken question.

Later that afternoon, Richard told me, several of the servants had become violently ill with what appeared to be food poisoning.

I cursed, remembering the candles that I had left burning at the summons of the approaching dawn, reckoning that Poley had used the flames to free himself, then awaited his chance. If it had been a vampire who tended him, it would not have mattered, but poor, kind-hearted Lena, unable to imagine that the orders to leave the prisoner alone extended to not feeding him, had had no chance.

Without a word I dressed and crossed to the manor, where Geoffrey was waiting for me. I felt much as I had at University, awaiting the public whipping, and when the interview was over, I considered a flogging preferable to the tongue-lashing I received. I swallowed the burning sense of shame that welled in me at Geoffrey's words, acknowledging my fault and my responsibility, and gleaning what comfort I could with the scant approbation Geoffrey had afforded me for not pointing out that I had, in fact, left orders that Poley should not be disturbed. In my former life my rash nature might have prompted a drawn blade, but I knew full well where that would get me now: flat on my back with the point of Geoffrey's steel resting in the hollow of my throat, if I were lucky, and Geoffrey lenient. Dead, if not.

Chapter 24.

The years pa.s.sed as years will, and the time came when we were ready to return to England. On the evening before we were to leave Paris, Geoffrey clipped the st.i.tches that held the lids of my right eye closed. He had noted a growing fullness behind the formerly slack lid, and resolved to investigate. Jehan stood by with a basin and soft cloths, then bathed my eye with warm herb-scented water. As the lids parted, Geoffrey gave a soft sigh of satisfaction. The eyeball was regenerating, he told me, though when I viewed it in the mirror, the pupil was as yet smoky and dull and the iris a startling milky blue. I saw the light of the candle as no more than a soft ball of furry gold, but it was light, and I was seeing it with my right eye.

"It is very likely that you will fully regain your sight in time," Geoffrey told me. "But for now, Christopher, you should continue to wear the patch most of the time, but try to exercise the eye for a time every night." The scar across the lid, though its angry color had faded, was still ragged and puckered, and I was vain enough to desire hiding such a blemish.

I watched Richard avert his eyes from it that same evening, as he read to me, though he seemed unable to keep himself from casting sidelong glances at it, try as he might to force his gaze away.

"If you will fetch me the patch from the table, Richard, I will cover it up," I said testily, unable to bear it any longer. Richard brought the patch, and as he handed it over he asked how it had happened, the words coming reluctantly as if both against his will and beyond his control. "I was held down, and it was done with a twelve-penny dagger. That is when I died, Richard, before I became the monster that I am." Richard paled, then blushed a furious crimson.

"I was wrong, my lord, to speak so that night, and I pray you might forget my foolishness and my ingrat.i.tude," he said stiffly, then relaxed a little when I smiled.

"I do forgive it, Richard, even if I do not forget it. I won't bring it up again," I said. Richard nodded solemnly and went to fetch some wine.

He had never quite healed from the horrors of confinement and a.s.sault, and indeed seemed truly comfortable only with me. We had fallen into the easy relationship that one sometimes finds between siblings when their relative ages have a sufficient disparity.

Rozsa had helped him a great deal, the threat of her s.e.x blunted by the boy's clothing that she habitually wore. She had coaxed him into talking of his ordeal, easing his pain thereby. I had thought that she might take the boy as a lover, but she had not, saying that he was not yet ready for such a step, and might never be. To the surprise of all, Rhys's not the least, she had set about seducing the handsome stableman, quelling his fears of her vampirism, and setting him truly at ease with us for the first time since he and his family had joined the household.

I forced my gaze back to the book in my lap, but my thoughts wandered, and when Richard came back with the wine to mull at the fire, I studied the changes the years had made in my companion. Richard had reached his full height at five feet and nine inches, but he hadn't yet filled out, retaining the leggy coltishness of adolescence, and though the delicate bones of his face had lost some of their androgyny he retained an almost startling beauty.

Finding my thoughts veering relentlessly towards Richard again, I snorted and closed the book. Startled at the sound Richard looked up from the hearth and smiled shyly. Unable to stop myself, I reached a hand out to touch that impossibly black hair, watching the purple highlights following my fingers, then reluctantly pulled my hand away. Richard caught it in both of his, holding it a moment, then, shamefaced, letting go. "I am sorry, Richard," I said softly, but Richard interrupted, his voice hoa.r.s.e and close to tears.

"No, I am sorry," he said, turning his face away. "I know what you want, and I-I do dream about you, sometimes, but I am frightened. No," he stopped me, "I know about Rhys and Lady Rozsa, and I know that you would not hurt me, that you do not harm Jehan when he-when you-couple," he drew a shuddering breath, and went on. "The dreams always change, you see, and then it's not beautiful, it's ugly, and you are cruel and laughing-" I gathered the distressed young man to me, murmuring against the heavy hair.

"I will never harm you, Richard, nor even touch you without your consent. I can do something about the dreams, however, and I will, if you will trust me. Look at me," I added, turning his wet face towards mine.

Chapter 25.

Hal paced by the fire, his face alight with excitement as he told me of the Irish campaign, his long fingers moving as if they plucked his words from the air. Ess.e.x had appointed him his Master of Horse, much to the displeasure of the Queen, who, although she had eventually agreed to his release from prison, still had little use for the handsome earl.

He told of the mud and the cold, the murky chambers that managed to keep the smoke trapped inside despite the roaring drafts that pierced through the heaviest clothing, and the constant fear when venturing out that every hummock would suddenly sprout a berserk kern bent on murder. Many was the time that the entourage would arrive at a destination with men missing, or dead in the saddle. It was enough to make one believe in the Sidhe, he said and his voice faltered. He flashed a bright smile at me, realizing that he had completely lost the thread of his narrative. "But tell me, will you return to the court?"

"I think not," I answered, smiling. "It is somewhat-diabolic, at the moment." Hal looked blank for a second, then laughed heartily at my joking reference to Cecil's ascendancy. Even Libby broke off the pretty air she played, laughing as she stood and laid the lute aside.

"I must take my leave, your grace," she curtsied to me, and I stood, catching her hand, pressing a brief kiss into the palm.

"Then you must send us more candles, for you take the better part of our light away," I said, smiling wryly at the awkwardness of the compliment; I had never regained my facility with words. She was ravishing, this girl that Hal had embraced prison for, the sort of beauty that would never fade into a plain old age. She smiled again and Hal caught her into a swift embrace before she skipped from the room. "She is beautiful, Hal, and well worth the winning at whatever cost. But tell me now of Ess.e.x. What devil possessed him to behave so?" Hal picked at the lace bordering his cuff, and his expression clouded.

"You heard about his return from Ireland, then?" he said tonelessly, and I nodded. Ess.e.x, after disobeying his orders from the council at every turn, became convinced that his character was being undermined in his absence, and had concluded a hasty and illicit truce with Tyrone then returned to England without permission. Worse, he had barged his way into the Queen's bedchamber while she was undressed. I shuddered, thinking of that confrontation. She was an old woman, but a vain one, who had not seen a mirror for twenty years or more, burying her age under the layers of paint, the wigs, cloth of gold, priceless lace, and jewels enough to furnish a dragon's h.o.a.rd. When he beheld what she had been hiding Ess.e.x's expression must have been mirror enough to shatter every illusion that the old woman had so carefully built. She would never forgive him that, I knew, and suspected that the earl did, as well. He had been ill for the better part of the year that had pa.s.sed since his precipitate return from Ireland, and the return to favor for which he prayed had never come. Ess.e.x had remained in exile from the court, if not actually still detained, and it galled him, wearing away what little prudence he may have possessed. He had begun to flaunt his precipitate knowledge of the Queen's person, to vilify her publicly, joking rudely about her twisted carca.s.s and balding head. He was looking to die, I thought, daring the woman who had doted on him to strike at him now. He was like a sulky child crying "I don't care!", and unable to convince anyone, least of all himself, that it was true.

"He would do well to remember who his mother is," I muttered, thinking of the beautiful Lettice Knollys, the "she-wolf " Elizabeth called her, who had enticed her sweet Robin Dudley away. That had effectively ended the countess's career at court-the Queen possessed the Tudor vindictiveness in full measure. Hal nodded, and leaned towards me, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You see that it can't continue, don't you, Kit? Diabolus rules in England now, and is moving to gather up the reins of the Scottish court as well. He must be stopped, and the Queen must be protected from such usage, and who better than Rob? His blood is as royal as hers, he's Dudley's stepson, and brought up to care for her-"

"d.a.m.nation, Hal, listen to yourself!" I snarled, revolted. "Are your wits wandering? Your Robin has been slavering for the crown all his short, fractious life, and everyone knows it. You do not believe this prattle-or do you?" I pulled Hal around to face me, catching his chin and forcing his gaze. "You do, G.o.d help you, but you do," I added flatly. I dropped my hand and stepped away, shaking my head.

"You've been tucked so cozily away in Paris, you do not know what it has been like here, banned from the court, watching Cecil, crook-backed little spider that he is, usurp the power that rightfully belongs to others. Rob's been wrong more than once, granted, but he's right in this, Kit, can't you see? There is no other way."

"What I see is your handsome head gracing a pole on London Bridge. Stop it, Hal, before it is too late for all of you. It's already too late for your Robin, and well he knows it! And he will bring as many down with him as he can," I said earnestly, reaching a hand to Hal's cheek, only to have it batted petulantly away.

"You don't know Robin," he said. "He has been betrayed too often in his life to ever betray his friends! I think that he is the only truly n.o.ble man left in this weary age. We must support him in this, or go and hang ourselves! There is no longer a middle way, Kit! You're the fool an you think that Cecil will give you leave to tread one!" I shook my head and bade Hal good night, then left the room.

A little time later I watched the men drift in from a shadowed doorway down the pa.s.sage: Hal's friends and fellow conspirators, Almsbury, Rutland, Mounteagle, Davers and Robin's scandalously young stepfather, Blount. He called for wine, and doubtless they set to work refining their enterprise.

Libby had been waiting for me when I left him, and begged to speak with me privately, leading me to her little parlor. A small fire burned in the hearth, and the windows were shrouded in heavy curtains to keep out the drafts. A half-finished embroidery waited in its frame where she had pushed it against the wall. She closed the door behind me, and leaned against it, eyes closed, and her breath coming fast. "My lady?" My words implied a question as I stepped to her side. She blindly put out a hand, and I took it, then supported her to the settle near the fire, thinking she looked ready to faint. She buried her face in her hands, and began to shake, racked by sobs, then fumbled in the bodice of her gown to pull out a crumpled letter, and push it into my hands.

"Will you read it to me, my lady," I asked gently and she s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper back, blushing hotly. To cover her blunder, she began to read in an emotion-choked voice. The letter, from Ess.e.x's protege Anthony Bacon, was brief, the writing crabbed and shaky, warning Hal that one answering the description of Prince Krytof had been seen frequenting the lodgings of a well-known spy, one Robin Poley by name, in Paris, and might well be another spy of Cecil's. Care was urged in all dealings with the man. Hal had crumpled the note and tossed it away. He refused to believe that I was in any way a tool of the hated Cecil, but Libby had retrieved it, resolved to confront the enigma.

"I am so frightened!" she whispered brokenly. "I love him so, and he-they will kill him for this, and I shall die!" For a stunned moment, I half-thought that she was speaking of Ess.e.x, but she continued. "You are trying to discourage him, aren't you? Will he listen to you?" Tears glistened on the tips of her lashes, trembled and fell, staining the velvet of her gown. Gently I brushed them away, and she caught my hand in both of hers. "Oh, he must listen!"

"He will not be dissuaded, I fear, but perhaps I can keep him from the ultimate consequence of his folly. I am no spy, and I will do what I may, my brave lady," I answered quietly, fighting an almost irresistible desire to press my lips, my teeth, against her soft, white throat.

"You think that I am brave? Why?"

"If I were in Cecil's employ, showing me that letter would be either very brave, or very foolish. I prefer to think that you are brave," I said. She was dazzling, the firelight burnishing her coppery hair, turning the hazel of her eyes into sunlight on forest pools. Sunlight- she seemed drenched in it, golden as honey in harvest time, and I had not even known that I missed it until now. Her next words brought me out of my reverie with a thump.

"You were his lover, weren't you? Before you went to France, and when he joined you there? No, he said nothing, but I knew."

"You must hate me, then, and how hard it must have been for you to confront me!" I breathed, trying to pull away, but she held me fast.

"Oh, no! No, my lord, I-I found that I was envious-of you both!" She turned her face away to hide her furious blush. I turned her face to mine, and slowly bent to kiss her, to kiss the sun that I had been so long denied, but ready to pull back if she shied. She returned my caress, first bashfully, then ardently, setting the roots of my canine teeth to aching. My lips drifted to the vein throbbing in her throat, and I felt her shiver against me as my teeth pierced her skin. A scant moment later I raised my head, licking her sweet salt blood from my lips before kissing her mouth again. I rose from the settle, leaving her drowsy and relaxed. I bent to kiss her forehead, whispering "I will save him then, if I can, for both our sakes," and saw her smile as her sleep deepened. I stepped to the door and opened it a crack, watching the members of this maladroit compact file in. I slipped from the house, melting into the shadows of the dark London streets, the taste of Libby still sweet in my mouth.

She was waiting breathlessly the following night. The disorder in the room told me how she must have paced her small parlor, catching up her needle then tossing it away, picking up the lute and striking a few chords, and setting it down. As I surveyed the mess she laughed without humor and told me that every time she'd heard a step in the pa.s.sage she had flown to the door to peek out, only to find that it was always someone to join the gathering about Hal. Then, when I'd opened the door and stepped into the little room, she hadn't heard me until I softly spoke her name. She'd spun around, dropping the heavy curtain at the window, holding out her hand. I crossed to her, gathering her into my arms and kissing her. She flowed against me, and I could hear the wild beating of her heart, feel the blood pulsing in her veins against the skin of my hands. She pushed herself away, and my dark gaze followed her, puzzled, until she locked the door and turned laughing, unfastening the b.u.t.tons of her surcoat, letting the rich velvet fall crumpled to the floor as she stood in her shift of sheer lawn, like the sun veiled by the thinnest of summer clouds.

I saw that she had pulled the cushions from the settle and made a nest before the fire. There was food and wine, and the sweet faintly balsamic scent of the wax candles was like incense. She fumbled at my clothing, her slender hands shaking. I caught them in my own, pressing a kiss to each before dropping them to her lap and slipping off my doublet and shirt. She traced the silvery scars on my chest while I removed the rest of my clothing, then raised her face and kissed me. I took her there before the fire, slaking her l.u.s.t, and drowning my own appet.i.tes in her body and her blood. I left her before the departure of Hal's guests at midnight, promising to return soon. We continued to meet thus once or twice a week, whenever Hal was preoccupied with his own intrigues.

Not many weeks pa.s.sed before Geoffrey felt the need to interfere. He sent for me to attend him at Blackavar, and I rode through the December gloom in a mood as foul as the weather. My cloak crackled with frozen sleet as I dismounted in the icy courtyard and strode into the hall, looking for Geoffrey. He was standing before the fire, and in no better mood than I. Before I could open my mouth, he motioned me into the study.

"You will cease to involve yourself in the affairs of the earls of Southampton, and of Ess.e.x," he said bluntly.

"But I-" I began.

"That is an order, not a request, Christopher." Stunned, I turned to leave, but he took my shoulder and spun me about, pushing my back against the door. His eyes were like an icy dagger, glittering grey. All the years of frustration at being restricted, regarded as a child, exploded in me then, and I shoved him away, fumbling for the door-latch behind me. His blow came from my blind side, knocking me to the floor. I rolled to my feet, and blocked the next blow, but the strength of it caused me to stumble, and a third slap put me back on the floor. Geoffrey hauled me to my feet and shook me like a terrier with a rat. "You will not flout me, and you will do as I say," he told me.

"May I speak?" I asked, choking on my anger and humiliation. He nodded. "I am not involved with Ess.e.x at all," I told him. "My involvement with Hal, and with his wife, is of a personal nature. I do not intend to stop seeing them."

"Personal? Then see that it remains so," he said, coldly. "You must not dispute my custody, Christopher, and you must not contend with me. It is a battle you cannot win. I do not enjoy hurting you, but I will, to keep our family safe. Do you understand me?" I nodded, unable to speak. "Then, to show that all is forgiven between us, will you share my bed?" I nodded again, swallowing my pride, and followed him from the room. I knew it was his way of exerting his dominion over me; though that shamed me, I wanted him as I had wanted no other man, and would take whatever I could get. At least I understood, now, why Tom would so often goad me to violence before we coupled.

Christmas had come and gone and January was pa.s.sing. Although Geoffrey and Rozsa were frequently to be found there, I had made only one visit to the court, accompanied by my family, as we presented our gifts to the Sovereign on Twelfth Night. Sylvie had attended Rozsa that night, as Richard attended me, and she had scandalized the court by darting forward with her own gift to the Queen. Elizabeth, who never forgot anything unless it suited her, remembered the vibrant serving-girl from their brief meeting some years before, and signaled that she should be allowed to approach. She accepted Sylvie's gift, a little pomander filled with rose-petals and sweetbrier, and beautifully worked with a silken Tudor rose. Elizabeth thanked her gravely, and, tucking the sachet into her bodice, said it was the sweetest gift she had that night.

As they did each year, Geoffrey and Nicolas had presented, besides their more regular gifts, a sizable coffer of gold coin, with which they bought our freedom from persecution in the matter of our family's non-attendance at the established church. I had given her a curious ivory and ebony fan from far Cathay that folded into what amounted to a small club, and the Queen made great use of it for the remainder of the night, finding it even more efficient than the flat kind for administering quick corrections.

Ess.e.x was not there, and had sent word that his health did not permit his partic.i.p.ation, but rumor had it that it was the lack of an invitation that had caused his illness.

Chapter 26.