The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(90)
“Set out where?” This was slightly dizzying. Where was Walsingham in all this? Was Exeter so powerful that he could release Tower prisoners on his own demand? Hadn’t he been a Tower prisoner himself years ago?
The tumble of thoughts came to a halt at the man’s next words. “Your brother has taken my daughter hostage at Wynfield Mote, along with the Princess of Wales. They are leverage for the release of Mary Stuart. You and I are riding back to Wynfield to try and bring this to a peaceful end.”
“Nic?” Julien asked numbly. “I don’t understand…”
But he found he did understand, all too well. Julien felt as though he were spinning, but recognized that it was not his body but his world spinning off center. If Walsingham had suspected Blanclair, he’d had good reason. Julien had been so caught up in Lucette that he hadn’t troubled to decipher the obvious—there were men at Blanclair besides himself. And his badge maliciously planted on the body of the man who’d tried to poison Queen Elizabeth? Who could—would—have done that but Nicolas? For eight years he had existed in a world of guilt—for Léonore’s death, Nicolas’s castration—guilt that had sent him to Walsingham, guilt that drove him through violence and occasional mercy, guilt that had kept him away from home. Guilt that had kept him from telling Lucette how he loved her until it was too late.
And at the thought of Lucette, his world stopped spinning and settled on a new axis. For she remained unchanged. Lucie mine, he thought grimly, I’m sorry. And I’m coming for you.
Julien started for the open door. “What are we waiting for?”
Dominic stopped him with his single, powerful right hand square on his chest. “One thing you should know, son. The government’s concern is the princess. Mine is my daughter. Whatever else happens, Lucette comes out of this unharmed. Is that clear?”
“I assure you, Lord Exeter, I have no greater interest than in seeing Lucie safe.”
If Dominic narrowed his eyes at Julien’s familiar use of her name, the duke seemed to accept it for the promise it was. “Even at your brother’s expense?”
“Nicolas and I have a debt to settle, I believe. But he can go to hell before I’ll see Lucie hurt.”
Dominic dropped his hand and his expression lightened just a shade. “Oh yes,” he murmured as if to himself, “you and I are going to have a very long talk when this is over.”
TWENTY-TWO
It was with the greatest triumph that Mary received Francis Walsingham at Tutbury. She met him seated in the nearest thing to a throne her prison could provide, a pretty enough chair of gilded wood and ornamental cushions beneath the arms of Scotland and France. She wore a black velvet gown over sleeves and kirtle of striped grey silk and a black velvet cap.
“Master Secretary,” she said coolly. “Am I to take it you will ride with me to the coast?”
The Earl of Shrewsbury was not present, presumably having been told by Walsingham to keep away. But Stephen Courtenay was at her side, and a young man next to Walsingham who was apparently Stephen’s younger brother, Christopher.
“Yes.” He bit the word off, clearly furious at having been outmaneuvered at last.
“Why so dark, Master Secretary?” she asked blithely. “Your queen is unharmed. And soon you will be free of a troublesome guest. I thought you would be pleased.”
Stephen had been watching them both, clearly bewildered. “She is to be released?” he asked Walsingham.
“We’ll ride with her to King’s Lynn, where Her Majesty awaits. It is necessary to move swiftly, so I hope, madam, that you are prepared for hard riding.”
“I have been prepared these twelve years.”
“Why?” Stephen demanded to know. He did not sound as pleased as Mary would have thought, given all the care he had taken for her.
“Nicolas LeClerc has taken Anabel and Lucie hostage at Wynfield,” Christopher Courtenay burst out, obviously smoldering. “The French bastards have stooped to threatening an innocent to free her.” He jerked his head at Mary with disdain. She would have liked very much to slap him.
“I did not know what means would be used, and in any case the girl will not be harmed. If my cousin had only listened to reason—”
“Enough.” Walsingham’s tone brooked no dissension, and Mary shut her mouth sourly. “We leave in an hour. You may bring one lady with you, and your confessor. The others will be allowed to leave Tutbury on their own when the princess is safely in our hands once more.”
Mary turned to Stephen. “You will ride with me to King’s Lynn, will you not?”
She meant it as a mark of favour, a reminder that she would remember his kindness and service to her when she was free.
His face had never been so difficult to read, which was perhaps just as well with the disapproving Walsingham standing by, not to mention the fuming younger brother.
His words, like everything he did, were spoken with care. “I will ride to King’s Lynn for my sister’s sake, not yours.”
The venom in his tone was all the worse for its control. Mary flinched. “I thought we understood each other, Stephen.”
He was no longer the silent English nobleman, nor the handsome young man who had flattered her. He sounded at once older and harder. “I understand you very well. You are the center of every story you weave, and no one’s life matters as much as your own. You use people, Your Majesty, and you should have taken care to be certain of my allegiance before giving me access to your secrets.”