The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(103)

“Kill me? So they could. But I don’t think he told them anything about me. I think he hoarded that information. Nic was never one to share.”

“What will you tell them?”

“My father? The truth. All of it, from St. Bartholomew’s Eve on. He will know how and what to tell Felix.”

As still as marble, with no clue in her face or voice as to what answer she wanted, Lucette said, “So I suppose what I’m supposed to ask is: Will you come back?”

“That is for you to answer.” Julien resisted the instinctive urge to tease or charm, and instead said as plainly as possible, “Shall I come back to England when I am finished, Lucie mine?”

His heart beat four times before she answered. “If you do not come back, I will hunt you the length and breadth of Europe until I string you up like a dog.”

“Like father, like daughter,” he laughed.

Her answering laughter was like summer rain after a drought, or the caress of soft wind beneath a blazing sun. He loved the sound. But he also did not want it to draw her parents’ attention too soon, so he stopped it with a kiss.





POSTLUDE


September 1580

Madrid, Spain



Philip II of Spain waited until Cardinal Granvelle had crossed the chamber and stood behind his king, who looked out at the vista of the city he had made his center of government.

Without turning, Philip asked, “She is here?” An unnecessary question, but Granvelle, like all royal advisors, was accustomed to answering all questions, even the unnecessary ones.

“She is here.”

“Show her in.”

With a last, approving look at his city, Philip turned his back on the pointed arch of the stone window surround and waited where he was, hands clasped behind him. Granvelle reentered with a woman following. A woman dressed in black and white, taller than Granvelle by several inches—at nearly six feet, she was taller than most men, including Philip—with auburn hair and a regal carriage. Dowager Queen of France, disgraced Queen of Scotland, Mary Stuart approached Philip and sank into a nicely judged curtsey that managed to express appreciation and respect without forfeiting any of her innate sense of position.

Philip had had weeks to decide how to greet her. “Welcome to Spain, Your Majesty. I had thought to offer you greater, more public welcome…but I’m afraid the recent treatment of my daughter has left me unsettled.”

Mary had also had weeks to decide how to reply. “Your Majesty, I did not know that your daughter would be offered harm. I did not know she was any part of the scheme to free me. If I had known, I should never have agreed to put an innocent in harm’s way.”

He did not know if he believed her. In the end it did not matter. They were playing a game, the two of them, and after all, he himself had agreed to the Nightingale Plot without knowing the details. If his Anne had been hurt, he would have had himself to blame.

But his daughter had not been injured, and the Nightingale Plot had succeeded where all others had failed. Mary Stuart was free. The problem, as it had always been, was what to do with her next?

“Madam,” he said in his most formal manner, which was very formal indeed, “it is my understanding that you wish to make Spain your friend in the years ahead. Perhaps, to make us something more than friends?”

“That is as Your Majesty wishes it.” What else could she say? All of Catholic Europe had marveled at Mary’s escape from Protestant England, but that didn’t mean they wanted her on their hands. The French queen mother loathed her onetime daughter-in-law intensely, and even Mary’s de Guise relatives were in no hurry to welcome her into their homes. She had been a bad queen and a worse wife…but she was important in the balance of things.

Philip had considered long and hard before giving his consent to Nightingale, and once he made a decision, he did not change it lightly. He had determined his course of action months ago; it only waited now to be put into practice.

“My lady,” he said, more gently than before, “it is my great wish that you will consider Spain your home. And that you will consent to adorn my kingdom with your beauty and grace. Would not the Queen of Scotland and France like also to be the Queen of Spain?”

She was too clever to gloat, but not so clever as to hide it completely. Satisfaction flickered in her eyes. “I can conceive of no greater purpose, Your Majesty, than to be your wife and to give you sons.”

He could not keep half the chamber between them any longer. Crossing the marble floor, Philip kissed her lovely white hand and thought, And that, Elizabeth, is how wars begin to be won—by changing the rules of engagement.

This is a new war now.





For Dee F. Andersen

1931–2014

Husband

Father

Gentleman

Loved





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



Where to begin with my undying gratitude? How about with Tamar Rydzinski, who talked me through the perils of submitting a new project and held my hand along every step of my worried path. Tamar, I wish I could promise you that I will get less neurotic as time goes on, but I think we both know different.

Jostling for that first spot is Kate Miciak. She’s the kind of editor I might sell my soul for, if it came down to it. And even then, my soul might not be enough for what she’s worth! She knows instinctively what to say—from compliments to reassurances to dead-on critique of every weak spot in a manuscript. And she introduced me to Lee Child!