The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(2)

So she took it.

Pippa leaned in so suddenly that Matthew startled back. But she gave him no chance to speak or wonder or think at all. She simply kissed him.

It was, of necessity, inexpert. Pippa was not in the habit of kissing the gentlemen of her acquaintance. She was attractive and wellborn and wealthy, but she also had a formidable father. Rumour had it Dominic Courtenay had nearly killed Brandon Dudley several years ago after discovering him in passionate concord with Lucette. Which meant Pippa would have to take the initiative with any man—and with no one more than the self-effacing Matthew.

Almost at once, as though sparked by the touch, Pippa felt Matthew’s emotions blaze into life. His first instinct was pure physical response—his second, to pull away. But because she felt the resistance coming, she put her hands on the sides of his face to keep him engaged.

And once past his second instinct, Matthew let himself return her kiss. Having nothing to compare it to, Pippa had no idea if he was experienced or not. All she knew was that it was right. They fit perfectly, as she had always known they would.

Despite her curious double awareness, it was still a surprise when Matthew spoke. “I love you,” he whispered in a suspiciously rough voice into her hair when they released each other to breathe. “I have always loved you, Philippa. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

She laughed breathlessly. “Why does everyone think I know everything?”

“Only the things that matter.”

And just like that, like a candle being snuffed out, the brilliant day vanished and Pippa was wrapped in a dream or vision—a very specific one that had crept into her life so long ago it seemed to have always been with her. Rushlight and fog, insistent hands and masked faces, melodious Spanish voices mixed with the unmistakable lilt of the Scots, the certain knowledge that she was dying…

The vision had never frightened her—until now. Because for the first time, a new element was added to the familiar litany of her life’s eventual end. “Run, Philippa. Run now!” Matthew’s voice. Matthew’s beautiful, beloved voice, strained with fear and anger. But she could not run, because he was bleeding and if she left him he would die—

Pippa gasped, the shock of it like falling into an icy Devon stream in winter. She came back to the hillside, the warm sun on her face and Matthew grasping her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She slipped out of his hold and stood, still disoriented as to time and place. All she could do was escape as quickly as possible. “I don’t always like what I know,” she managed to reply. “And neither would you. Don’t follow me, Matthew.”

She ran away, knowing he would not override her. Matthew’s restraint would always win out.





1 November 1584


Middleham Castle


Dear Kit,

I confess to being unreasonably envious of you! Would you believe that it snowed here yesterday? Yes, it melted by morning, but when I think of you and Stephen in the temperate Loire Valley, I long to board the first ship that will take me away from Yorkshire.

And yes, I know, I am the one who counseled Anabel to take up residence this far north. But do you not remember Madalena’s Moorish grandmother telling me that I am by nature contradictory? Who am I to gainsay such a wise woman?

I am not the only contradictory female in Yorkshire. I suppose you know from Anabel that Brandon Dudley and Nora Percy married suddenly last month. Not, despite what the gossips say, because there is a child coming too soon—no, for all its apparent suddenness, this wedding has been looming for some years. I am only surprised that they waited this long. Nora is already thirty and has been in love with Brandon forever. But her mother did not approve—probably because Eleanor Percy hoped that one day her daughter would learn to be as cynical at manipulating men as she is herself.

Although Eleanor’s manipulations have not been notably successful lately. The Earl of Ormond proved willing to be her lover, but not her husband. And with the dangerous situation in Ireland, Ormond has finally broken with Eleanor for good and sent her back to England. She was not invited to her daughter’s wedding.

Nor was the queen informed of the marriage in advance, despite Nora being her niece. Anabel is a little tense, awaiting her mother’s response.

I wish you would write more often. To me, not just to Anabel. It has been surprisingly lonely being apart from all my siblings. At least you and Stephen are together, and Lucie has Julien.

Still, there is little time to indulge in self-pity in this household. Anabel is almost as ferocious a ruler as her mother, and Matthew—



Pippa Courtenay broke off writing. For a woman who had often been told she never lacked for things to say, she could not find the words to finish that sentence. How to explain her current tenuous relationship with Matthew Harrington, a man she had known since birth? At the age of fifteen, she had allowed herself one reckless moment with him—and had spent the last seven years ensuring they never again crossed the boundaries of simple friendship.

Twice in the last eighteen months she had attempted to explain to him the wisdom of that decision and persuade him to look for his future happiness elsewhere. It had not gone according to plan.

Which seemed to be the theme of the Courtenay family these last two years. After a bloody mess in Ireland, her older brother Stephen had spent five months confined to the Tower of London. He’d subsequently lost his title and estates as Earl of Somerset, then been unofficially banished from England. Now he and Kit—Pippa’s twin—were training in France and serving with their father’s old friend, Renaud LeClerc. And Lucie, though gloriously happy in her marriage to Renaud’s son, Julien, had suffered three miscarriages in the last two years.