The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(17)
She was swept by relief, for she had been afraid of outright rejection. “If you must. We look forward to hearing from you shortly.”
And that was that. They said their muted farewells and Baron Scrope led them back to the courtyard. “You will not stay and let us entertain you further?”
“Her Highness will be anxious to hear our report. And also,” Philippa studied the iron sky, “it looks as though it’s going to snow again. Thank you, Lord Scrope.”
As Philippa prepared to mount, Matthew neatly cut off the groom waiting to help her. He offered his linked hands and said softly, “Well done, my lady.”
She paused. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“What should I call you?”
“There was a time when you called me Philippa.”
He drew up to his full height, so that she had to raise her head quite far to see his expression. It was forbidding. But he never raised his voice. “And there was a time when you talked to me about things besides Princess Anne. When you are ready to confide in me again, I will call you by your name. My lady.”
Then he bent once more and she allowed him to help her onto the horse.
The seven miles back to Middleham passed in frozen silence.
—
If their time in France had accomplished nothing else, it had taught the Courtenay brothers to work together. As Kit had learned to respect his brother, he thought that Stephen in turn had learned to trust him.
They needed all their combined talents in the aftermath of Duncan Murray’s murder.
They sent couriers to track down Renaud. As the vicomte had not told them exactly where he was going—only in the vicinity of Poitiers—four couriers left to cover different routes, but each carrying the same message: Come home.
The next set of messages extended leave for the household servants. No sense having more civilians to worry about until they knew what was going on. The men-at-arms returned, however, and one week after burying Duncan Murray, Stephen summoned the men to present the current situation. Felix was also present; as the only LeClerc in residence, he could technically be said to be in charge.
Kit sat next to Stephen, where he could watch the room. His brother stood and spoke evenly and calmly, in a manner Kit had often heard their father do.
“You know of Duncan Murray’s death, and the written threat that accompanied it. It was not, however, the first indication of…hostile attention. I had no reason before to suppose that attention was directed at anyone beyond me. Now that we know to what lengths our opponents will go, I am not prepared to simply sit and wait.”
Coolly, calmly, as though discussing the weather, Stephen continued, “We’ve heard from three of the four couriers sent after the vicomte. Though they had not as yet located his present whereabouts, two of them reported that it appeared he had been summoned to meet privately with Henri of Navarre.”
There was a murmur at this news, for Navarre was the de facto leader of the Huguenots in France. The French Protestants had suffered greatly ever since the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre in Paris twelve years ago. And with it looking increasingly unlikely that King Henri III would sire an heir, Henri of Navarre remained the nearest successor to the Catholic throne.
For a man as supposedly apolitical as Renaud LeClerc to meet with the Huguenot leader was indeed a surprise. Kit’s first reaction to the news had been, No wonder Renaud didn’t tell anyone where exactly he was going.
“One of the few things we can know for sure about Duncan Murray’s killers is that they are committed Catholics and prepared to kill those even remotely attached to the Protestant cause. If they have been watching Blanclair, they might also have followed the vicomte to Henri of Navarre. The fourth courier is now three days late in reporting. That is possibly nothing serious. I do not like the possibility that I am wrong.”
“And so?” asked the sergeant in command of the men-at-arms.
“And so, at daybreak tomorrow, Lord Christopher and I will ride in the direction taken by the missing courier in hopes of meeting either him or the Vicomte LeClerc along the road. Those of you here are charged with protecting the house in our absence.”
The sergeant had another question. “What can we expect to see at Blanclair?”
“You should always expect to meet the worst.”
“Are you taking any of the men with you?”
“Just my brother. We want to ride fast and without the appearance of undue alarm.” Stephen hesitated, and looked swiftly to where Felix sat next to Kit. “And Felix will ride with us.”
The three of them had argued about it long and loud—most of the loudness on the boy’s part. The problem, Kit and Stephen agreed, was lack of information. They were guessing far more than was comfortable. Leave Felix behind or keep him under their direct protection—how were they to know which course was the right one?
Felix had finally announced that if the brothers left without him, he would simply ride out alone to follow. Since it would have meant confining the boy against his will to stop him, Stephen had been reluctantly persuaded.
It was Kit who had pointed out, “I doubt if Queen Mary intends to harm you, Stephen. At least not yet. She is targeting those around you. If we leave Felix behind, what if her men decide to target him?”
“And if Felix is a target on the road?”
“He’ll have the two of us to stop it. She has lost the element of surprise. We’re paying attention now.”