The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(94)

“And Anabel!” Kit said fiercely.

With a glance at his wife, Dominic again shook his head. “I won’t forget. I will get them both out.”

Julien had mostly kept his own counsel, aware that he was here on sufferance, but finally he offered, “Shouldn’t I come with you? I thought I was here to deal with Nicolas.”

“He hasn’t asked for you. I’d rather keep you in reserve till necessary.”

If something went wrong, Dominic meant. If Nicolas broke his word and kept the women, or took Dominic hostage as well. Julien felt a chill along his spine. He knew perfectly well that this would only end when he and Nicolas were face-to-face.

But he was in no position to argue.

Kit had no such scruples. “Take me with you.”

“No.”

“Father, please, it should be me, I’m less valuable than you. If something happens—”

Surprisingly amidst all this male tension, it was Pippa who broke in. “Let Kit do it,” was all she said, but it froze everyone to silence.

Minuette looked searchingly at her daughter. “Are you certain?”

“I don’t think—” Dominic started, but stopped when Pippa laid a hand on his sleeve, just above his missing left hand.

“I am very certain, Father. Kit is right. Let him go.”

There was something otherworldly and yet absolute about her, and the chill Julien had felt before shivered through him again. Lucette had never told him her sister was a…What? Seer? Visionary?

Whatever it might be called, the men in her family listened. Dominic handed the bag with the Great Seal to Kit and said grimly, “Bring them out, son.”

—

“They’re moving.”

At the note in Anabel’s voice, Lucette steadied herself and reluctantly returned her thoughts to the chamber she was in. She had taken to retreating in some form to pass the long days under Nicolas’s razor-sharp attention. She was clever enough to hold up her end of the conversation without being wholly present, and gave thanks to Dr. Dee for teaching her how to think of more than one thing at a time.

She didn’t stir from her chair, though, for she had learned by hard experience that Nicolas liked to tell her when and where to move. He went to the window where Anabel looked out and studied the landscape with her.

“I believe you’re right,” he said. “That does appear to be a party for parlay approaching from their encampment.”

He opened the door and summoned Laurent with barked orders. Anabel and Lucette exchanged a long glance, then both looked away. As long as Anabel got out of here, Lucette would be happy. She was perfectly certain she herself would be staying behind.

Laurent took the princess, and Nicolas escorted Lucette, both of them with daggers negligently held to their sides. Lucette was under no illusions about how quickly that positioning could change. Her father had taught her several ways to bring a dagger into play and was certain these men knew even more than she did.

The four of them took up position in the rebuilt medieval hall of Wynfield Mote. Though designed along its previous lines, modern comforts and touches had been introduced when it was restored after the fire. Lucette had always loved the hall, redolent as it was of family and laughter—would she ever be able to feel that way again?

She had been expecting her father, certain he would not let anyone else do it. But perhaps Nicolas’s men had been ordered to keep the elder Courtenay out, for to her surprise it was Kit who entered. Her brother had always possessed a certain grace, but his movements today spoke more of contained violence than fluid action.

His eyes went first to Anabel, and Lucette nearly caught her breath at what she saw in his face. But he was quick and shut down his feelings before they could more than briefly flash.

Did Anabel know that Kit was in love with her? Did Kit even know it before now?

“And why,” Nicolas wondered aloud, “did they send the young colt?”

“Because I saw Mary Stuart board ship for France and sail away with my own eyes. I have the Lord Chancellor’s seal, and your phrase.”

Nicolas cocked his head impatiently. “And?”

Kit tossed him a small velvet bag, then spoke. “?‘The nightingale sings her freedom.’?”

Kit let it linger, and Lucette felt Nicolas’s satisfaction through the points where he touched her. However much he’d had his own agenda—and still had things to finish—he was truly satisfied to have freed Mary.

No one moved, though Lucette could see what it cost her brother to stand still and wait. His jaw was tight surely to the point of pain, but he would not speak first for fear of unbalancing the moment.

At last Nicolas flicked the tip of his dagger in Anabel’s direction. “Let her go, Laurent,” he said softly.

Like the good soldier he was, Laurent released Anabel without hesitation. She shot a glance at Lucette.

“Time to go, Princess,” Nicolas said. “I think the young Courtenay boy will be only too glad to take you out.”

“What about Lucie?” Kit broke in.

“You got what you came for. Take her now, or forfeit.”

“Anabel, go,” Kit said softly, but she reached his side and took his hand, determined to stand with him. Lucette nearly shook her head at the foolishness of both of them.

“I won’t offer again,” Nicolas promised.