The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(72)

“Don’t fret, Father. Killing him immediately would be too kind. I have plans for Dane before that.”

The priest’s lips tightened, but he managed to nod before escaping the chamber. Peter Martin eyed each of them thoughtfully before following. At least, Stephen thought, Martin left under the impression that his fellow spy had been arguing on the English side.

With Byrne gone, Ailis said, “Thank you, Diarmid. I will remember this.”

Then, as though Diarmid were not still standing there, Ailis came to Stephen, her face blazing in joy. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I know what I’m doing. When Dane is dead, then I will be free.”

She kissed him then and there, with Diarmid glowering behind them so hard Stephen imagined he could feel the fire in the Irishman’s eyes boring through him.

We are all going to regret this. Stephen knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Much.





DIARY OF MINUETTE COURTENAY


13 August 1582


Hampton Court


Anabel has passed through the worst of the fever. The rash continues, but I am confident now in her healing. At least in the immediate sense. She seems to have been—frightened? humbled?—by this illness. Perhaps it is only that she is still so weak. It takes time to recover, as I recall all too well from my own desperate illness so long ago at Hampton Court. Of course, mine was due to poison, but perhaps that made it easier for me. I had an actual enemy to focus on. Anabel has only fate, or God.

Elizabeth allowed us to take charge of the sickroom. Both Lucette and Pippa are capable nurses, not prone to hysterics or distaste at any task, and it comforted Anabel to have them near her.

But it was Kit’s presence that made all the difference. Of course he could not stay in the sickroom, but I let him in twice a day to see her. Even when she wandered in fever hallucinations those first two days, Kit could always calm her. She would fix her eyes on him as though he were the only constant in a dangerously shifting world.

I know that expression. It is the one I first gave Dominic when I was not much younger than Anabel.



—

The stalemate between Ailis and Father Byrne did not abate over the course of three days. As long as Diarmid’s loyalty held, Ailis knew she would get her way. Stephen, after his first disagreement with her position, kept his mouth shut on the matter. Despite his ability to keep his emotions off his face, Ailis knew he thought her wrong. But no Englishman, not even one as surprising and appealing as Stephen Wyatt, was going to come to Ireland and tell her how to avenge her honour.

With Dane at Cahir Castle, her private hours with Stephen in her chamber came to an end. She was wholly absorbed in her enemy.

At first it was enough simply to know she had him in chains. She did not see him the first days, content to let Diarmid in once a day with bread and ale. If Diarmid took out his resentments on Dane, she didn’t ask. He knew her—he knew how far he could abuse the prisoner without going too far

Finally, Ailis was ready. Stephen didn’t say a word at her announcement, but Diarmid followed her to the makeshift prison chamber with the intention of following her in. When Ailis forbid it, he scowled impressively.

“It’s not safe,” he said bluntly.

“Is he in chains?” she asked.

“He is.”

“And as I understand, only I and Father Byrne hold a key to those chains. As long as you put them on correctly, all I need do is stay out of his reach.”

Diarmid gave in with bad grace, particularly when she insisted on shutting the door behind her. Just because word of what Dane had done to her had circled through her household didn’t mean she wanted details shared with all and sundry. And who could guess what Dane would say?

She could guess it would be offensive; he did not disappoint. “Your men are loyal. How many of my tricks have you used to keep them that way?”

“Perhaps Englishmen need inducements to loyalty—Irishmen are different.”

His smile…she had forgotten how that smile could crawl beneath her skin. “Not so very different. If you were ugly or old, these men would not be so quick to listen. Certainly not that thick-headed captain of the guard. He wants from you what any man wants.”

They had no true prison cells at Cahir, at least none that were in proper repair. The chamber that held Dane was little more than an empty storeroom on the top floor of the rectangular central castle. The outer wall was stone and had no window. To the right of the door—well out of his chained reach—a small torch flared in its bracket. Other than a bucket for his sanitary needs, the chamber was empty. Dane sat on the bare floorboards, back against the wall, wrists and ankles circled with iron and chains fixed firmly to the wall. He would be able to stand—just—but could not move more than a foot in any direction.

Still, he managed to look at her with amusement and contempt, and to control the conversation as he always had. “Come to see your handiwork?” he asked. “Or to engage in a battle of wits? You may be too old now for my tastes, but your mind seems keen enough. I wouldn’t mind engaging in a debate.”

“I don’t care what you want. I care about what you owe. There is someone at Cahir Castle who merits an introduction to you.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Some man you have your eye on? You wish me to provide a testimonial as to your skills?”