The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(59)

Could it be his father had regrets? As they strolled into sight of the harbor—two of Philip’s guards following at a discreet distance to ensure their well-being—his father said, “If I had known that going abroad was the surest way of getting to know you, I would have done it long ago.”

Kit’s first instinct, as always, was to tease. “What is there to know? I’m the simple one—no need to fret over the lighthearted younger son as long as I don’t too openly smear the family name.”

His father’s reply was measured and grave. “The fact that you believe that tells me I have failed you in important ways. I am sorry for it.”

What on earth was he supposed to say to that? Trying furiously to deflect the emotional undertones threatening to swamp him, Kit said, “Why would you apologize? You never do anything wrong.” It didn’t come out quite as teasing as he’d intended.

“And that tells me how very young you are.” Dominic pushed his hand through his hair, threaded with silver but still abundantly black. “If you need me to, I can enumerate my many failures. But then we might be here awhile. All I can say in my defense is that I might have been much worse were it not for your mother. Believe it or not, I used to be even more rigid when younger.”

They had stopped at an overlook of Seville’s busy harbor, the guards keeping watch to—what? Ensure they didn’t jump? Set fire to Philip’s ships? Contaminate the population with their Protestant heresies?

Dominic had a naturally low voice, which he used to his advantage now. Kit was sure that he was the only one who heard his father when he said, “We’ve been in Spain for three months. Tell me what you see.”

It was the kind of quizzing given to Stephen when younger—or even Lucette, with her brilliant, puzzle-solving mind. But this was not a quiz. This was the struggle of kingdoms.

As he had learned to do over the last year, Kit took his time answering. Once, he had rushed to speak, afraid if he did not keep people entertained they would lose interest in him. But his father was an eminently patient man and would prefer thought to impulse.

“I see a court glad enough to have twin boys to secure the inheritance…but uneasy with their new queen. Mary’s pride is not meshing well with the Spanish. Perhaps it’s her early years spent in France—she can’t help but feel superior and distrustful. And vice versa.”

Kit stretched, then leaned on the rock wall above the harbor. He could feel the rough texture of stone and mortar beneath his palms as he looked beyond the surface to what it might mean.

“There aren’t enough ships,” he observed finally, keeping his voice as low as his father’s. Though it seemed folly to conduct this conversation in public, it was actually more private than in one of Philip’s palaces with attendants around every corner. No doubt reporting on them.

His father nodded once, to show he’d heard, and Kit continued his analysis. “Seville is the sole port open to the New World. There should be more ships here. Which leads one to wonder—if the ships are not in Seville, where are they? There are too many missing to simply be accounted for by New World travel.”

“Yes, there are.”

“And we have not visited any other ports since we arrived. The Spanish have gone to some lengths to keep this secret.”

With that rare smile of approval, his father said, “There’s always another secret—so Henry VIII used to say. Philip knows we did not come simply—or even primarily—to present gifts to his new sons. He also knows we can count. It is the analysis they are trying to obscure. And fortunately, it is not dependent on you or I to make that analysis. We simply return with our observations to a court with men capable of seeing beneath obscurity.”

“And then what?” Kit asked.

He meant what came next with the Spanish and English opposition, but his father answered a different question. One Kit hadn’t been aware of asking. “Then you make up your mind to serve where you are best suited—and where you are needed. I would suggest intensive military training before all else, for I do not think the Spanish threat is neutralized. You have a talent for command, Kit, perhaps more even than Stephen or I. Your mother gave you gifts of warmth and interest and genuine care for other people. Men will follow a commander who cares.”

Never in a hundred years would Kit believe he could ever be half the commander his father was. Dominic’s men loved him, reticent as he was, and no man could command greater loyalty. Kit said wryly, once again deflecting, “Too bad I don’t have any men to command.”

“You do. When we return, I will settle Blessington and Upham Court on you. They come with a small contingent of experienced soldiers who will be happy to take you on and teach you leadership while giving you plenty of bruises and lessons in humility. And perhaps you might consider going abroad for a time. Renaud LeClerc would work you to a degree of high proficiency.”

Kit didn’t know if he could take any more surprises. Manors of his own? Training in France? But his father was not yet finished delivering surprising news. “You should also know that King Philip has offered you a Spanish bride. ‘As a token of his esteem for his daughter’s great friend,’ he said. I think it is rather a token of His Majesty’s concern.”

His head was whirling so much he didn’t know which sentence to address first. “Why is the king concerned with me?”