The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(73)

“Your daughter.”

That shut him up…for all of five seconds. “You couldn’t even manage a son?”

“Would you have cared?”

“No. Irish brats are of no interest to me.”

“Good. Because I consider the only claim in play here is hers. She is owed the chance to meet her English father. Once.”

“I’m not going anywhere just now.” He rattled his wrist chains and smiled.

“She will come with guards of her choosing. The moment you insult her or say anything to distress her, those men will do more than blacken your jaw.”

He leaned his head against the wall behind him, eyes closed. “I liked you better when you kept your mouth shut and your legs open,” he murmured.

She swept out, refusing to be baited. “Stay here,” she commanded Diarmid outside the door.

Liadan and Maisie had claimed one of the tower chambers just off the Great Hall for their schoolroom. Once as bare as Dane’s prison cell, the two of them had softened and warmed the space with carpets and tapestries scavenged from around the castle. With the stacks of books and parchment and ink scattered across the round table, it was by far the coziest space in the castle.

It was a pity to disturb them, but Ailis didn’t hesitate. Nor did she try to dismiss the Scots girl—she was fairly certain Liadan would insist on Maisie staying with her. Most nights, Maisie even slept in Liadan’s chamber.

Her daughter looked up. “Is it time?” she asked simply.

“Only if you are ready.”

As she’d predicted, Liadan looked to Maisie. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course, pet.”

“Not you, Mother.” Liadan’s self-possession was so complete it took Ailis a moment to formulate a response. She could not deny that she was nearly as proud of the girl as she was dismayed by her order.

“Are you sure, Liadan?”

“It’s better,” she said, for all the world like a woman grown and tested rather than a girl just turned twelve. In the flickering light, the set of Liadan’s mouth was very like Dane’s. “You said I might have guards?”

“As many as you choose.”

“I want Stephen. Just Stephen.”

Ailis nodded. “I will fetch him for you, and meet you both outside the prison chamber.”

Well, she thought wryly, if I don’t decide to keep Stephen around after all this, Liadan might insist upon it. Ailis tried to ignore the thought that her daughter preferred a Scots girl and an Englishman to her own mother.

—

Stephen pretended to absorb himself in poring over Ailis’s map of Ireland in the Great Hall—one marked with her careful notes about manpower and allegiances. Mostly it was to try and take his mind off Oliver Dane. He didn’t know what he was going to do about that looming disaster.

Then, of a sudden, the disaster was no longer looming but imminent.

Ailis swept in and said, without preamble, “I need you to see Dane with my daughter.”

He straightened, trying to keep the panic from showing in his movements. “You’re letting Liadan in?”

“She has the right. I told her to take whomever she wished. She asked for Maisie—and you.”

Only long years of practice at control kept Stephen from cracking. How the hell was he going to get out of this? The answer was that he couldn’t, not without raising suspicion.

Then how to ensure that Dane didn’t expose him?

As he assented to Ailis’s request and followed her to the top-floor interior chamber—reinforced on the inside with stone walls and not a single window—Stephen thought frantically.

Liadan and Maisie were waiting outside Dane’s prison door, with Diarmid scowling behind them. For just a moment Stephen forgot his own dilemma in the face of a twelve-year-old’s bravery. Liadan’s usual high spirits were subdued. She stood with hands crossed demurely against her yellow skirts.

The only thing Stephen had been able come up with was a matter-of-fact request to see Dane by himself. “Let me go in alone first,” he said to Ailis and Diarmid with forced ease. “No doubt he’s been well threatened, but as a fellow countryman, I might know a trick or two to ensure his politeness.”

Please say yes, Stephen prayed, heart so thunderous he feared Liadan and Maisie heard it from where they stood. Maisie studied him with a curious expression.

“Very well,” Ailis agreed abruptly. “Go ahead and vent your own displeasure at Dane beforehand. I want to ensure Liadan is not disturbed.”

“Of course.”

Diarmid unbolted the door, shooting Stephen a look of such loathing it might have shaken him if he wasn’t already halfway to not breathing. Stephen pulled the door firmly shut behind him and hoped the thickness of the wood would keep them from being heard. He thought they were safe to talk—as long as neither of them shouted.

Dane had been beaten, but not so badly as Stephen himself had been in Ireland. Twice. The man sat with head bowed—possibly dozing—but even so it was possible to see the bruising and cuts along the side of his cheek and jaw. Then his head jerked up and he blinked several times before he recognized Stephen.

“What the hell—” Dane began.

“Keep your mouth shut.” Stephen displayed the dagger he’d been allowed to carry for the last week. “Your life is hanging in the balance, and if you tip it, I’ll be the one to silence you.”