The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(110)
At some unseen signal passing between the two royal women, Anabel straightened and walked forward. The others present slowly eased up as well to witness the reunion. When she reached the queen, Anabel sank low once more and kissed the fingers offered by her monarch. The hand gently lifted her until the two women faced one another, mirrors of the past and future.
“Well done, Your Highness,” the queen said.
Then Kit saw the queen’s expression alter, so that it was the mother looking upon her only daughter. He bent his head, hiding his grin of relief, as they embraced. Decorously, to be sure, but heartfelt nonetheless.
The two women retreated within, to allow for more spontaneous greetings amongst their retinues. Lord Burghley made straight for his son, Robert, at Kit’s side, and there were his own parents right behind—still so striking together at whatever age, fair and dark and perfectly balanced. And Julien, taller than the lot of them, swinging Lucette in a wide circle before kissing her so passionately that Kit almost blushed and caught Felix’s eye in amusement as he turned away.
It was his nondemonstrative father, surprisingly, who embraced him first. “Well done,” Dominic said, before moving on to Lucie.
Kit looked at his mother, her form and colouring and expression so like his lost twin that his heart ached. As always, she understood perfectly. She pulled him down into a tight hug while he wept a little on her shoulder.
Two hours later Kit stood before Queen Elizabeth alone and very curious. Not even Burghley or Walsingham were with her. Still dressed in her ceremonial finery—the ivory damask of her gown nearly hidden beneath embroidered peacocks, her signature pearls dripping from her bodice and sewn into her hair—the queen did not look like a woman who had nearly died two weeks ago. Save, perhaps, for an extra fineness to her hands and face.
She studied him unblinkingly, and Kit could not read a single one of her thoughts.
“Did you enjoy arresting Eleanor Percy?” the queen asked abruptly.
“Rather more than I should have, I expect.” He answered cautiously, not at all certain where this was going.
“I wish I could have seen her face.” Her face lit up in a mischievous smile very like Anabel’s. “I should have locked Eleanor up long ago.”
“What will happen to her now?”
“She did commit treason, but I am feeling…generous after our great triumph. I shall allow her to keep her life.”
“The woman is dangerous,” he felt compelled to point out.
“Eleanor will have her life,” Elizabeth repeated, “but not in England. For all their bluster, France is enormously relieved that Spain has not succeeded in swallowing up England. Catherine de Medici and her son owe me a favour.”
“What kind of favour?” Kit was beginning to enjoy this.
“Being a Papist country, France has any number of convents. I understand it is quite common for noble women of a certain age to retire from the world. Do you think Eleanor will enjoy the peace and solitude of a religious house?”
Kit grinned. “I think a community of nuns will prove immune to her charms. No doubt they will enjoy instructing her in the ways of a virtuous woman.”
“Quite.” And with that single word, the queen’s countenance grew forbidding. Kit felt his pulse quicken.
“I understand,” she said, her words like cut glass in the heavy silence, “that James Stuart is willing to forgo his rights as a wedded husband and not seek consummation of the ceremony. He is willing to set Her Highness free to seek another husband. Why?”
“I cannot speak for His Majesty.”
“Anne tells me you saved his life at Berwick.”
As it was not a question, Kit did not answer. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “It did not cross your mind to let him die on the battlefield?”
“And leave a kingdom without a monarch? We cannot afford Scotland in turmoil. And if James had died less than a day after wedding England, there are many in Scotland who would provoke further war.”
“I did not think you so wise,” she murmured. “Certainly not as a child. As I recall, you were always prone to act first and apologize after. Exactly like your mother. But it seems you have a deep strain of your father’s honour as well. I would see your loyalty properly rewarded.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Not as you may wish,” she cut him off. “The matter of the marriage of the Princess of Wales remains the province of myself and my government to decide. However, since your brother’s folly in Ireland, the Duke of Exeter has had no accepted heir to his estates. In the honours bestowed this week upon those who fought valiantly, we have determined to name you your father’s heir—and to give you the title and estate commensurate with that position. You shall be Christopher Courtenay, Earl of Somerset.”
“But Stephen—” he protested.
“Stephen forfeited such, as he well knows. Besides, he is as stubborn as your mother. I doubt we’ll ever pry him away from whatever his Scottish wife wishes. The best we can hope for is to persuade the young Mariota to bring her business to London. Your brother will not be jealous.”
His training asserted itself through his shock, and Kit knelt before the queen. “Your Majesty, it is a great honour. One I never imagined.”
“That is why it is being given. Every monarch should be served by at least a few men who are not solely seeking their own advancement.”