The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(27)

Philip was not about to allow his present queen to wreck the plans he had for his previous queen.

—

It took Kit almost a full day to realize how very tense Pippa was. It should have taken him much less than that, but he had been wonderfully, joyously, distracted by his reunion with Anabel. She hardly let him out of her sight for hours, cancelling who knew how many appointments in favour of sitting with him and talking. Their words spilled over each other at first, both almost giddy at the relief of being able to talk rather than merely write, but it didn’t take long to settle into the rhythm they had always had. Either Pippa or Madalena was present most of the time, but so quietly in the background they might as well have been alone.

Kit hardly even spared a thought for Felix until food was brought to them. “He’s perfectly well,” Madalena said in response to his ashamed questions. “Your sister has taken him in hand. And Matthew Harrington is talking business with Sir Andrew Boyd of the Sinclair Company.”

“Did Boyd come merely to escort you?” Anabel asked.

“I believe he has some business to communicate from Mistress Sinclair to your household. I told him once we were here, we would be perfectly safe and he could transact his own concerns.”

“So you are here to stay?”

“As long as you want me, in whatever position you choose. But first I must take Felix on to Compton Wynyates. He belongs with his uncle.”

“He must be rather overwhelmed by the rapid disasters and changes in his life.”

If he was, Felix had made little of it. Kit thought the boy had learned entirely too much from Stephen—his damnable self-control chief amongst those traits. Surely Julien and Lucette would know how to handle him. Felix had accepted the necessity of going to his uncle, though he seemed more resigned than pleased. Kit told himself it was only to be expected after his grandfather’s death.

Anabel said, “You might as well press on quickly. Take Pippa with you.”

He might have asked her why, but by then Anabel had moved to sit next to him on a stool hardly large enough for the both of them. He had to put his arm around her to hold her there, and when she laid her head on his shoulder, Kit was unable to think of anything else beyond the feel of her body next to his.

Two days after his arrival in York, Kit and Pippa took Felix and a contingent of Anabel’s guards to make the 150-mile journey to Compton Wynyates. They had to go at some speed, for Anabel desired them to be back in time for the Council of the North. Felix, neatly engaged in conversation by some of the men, left Kit and Pippa to bring up the rear and talk.

For once, Kit was the one pressing his twin to speak. “What is wrong?” he asked gently.

That gentleness blew away into irritation the moment she widened her eyes and said with blank innocence, “Nothing whatsoever. Is something wrong with you?”

“No, you are not doing this, Pippa. Not to me. Talk or don’t—but do not pretend I am someone else. You can be a brat elsewhere. With me you are honest…or you are nothing.”

He felt her flinch, and then he felt much, much more. His hands slackened on the reins as he was hit by an enormous wave of emotion. From Pippa, all of it, all at once, two years’ worth of fear and pain and worry launched at him like a weapon. She had never used their bond like this before, and it nearly staggered him.

Almost as quickly as it came, it abated to a more manageable level. As Kit regained a tighter grip of his horse, Pippa said, “Sorry. It seems I have missed you more than I knew.”

“Next time bash me over the head with a rock, why don’t you?” Kit answered wryly. “It would be softer.” Then, more kindly, “Why will you not speak to Matthew?”

“I speak to Matthew every day. Just this morning you heard me.”

He had grown too much to let her tease her way out of this. “Why have you not told him how you feel?”

She did not answer, not aloud. But Kit felt the brushing of her mind and he let himself reach for it. This time the emotion was focused and subtle, words mixed with thoughts and images. The brush of dank fog against his skin…the hiss of arrows in his ears…urgent voices…pain, low and sharp…Run, Pippa. Run.

“Pippa, what is it you see?” Kit asked urgently.

“This is for me alone.”

“But it’s keeping you from Matthew.”

She urged her horse forward, and said over her shoulder, “All the better for him.”

They stayed in Doncaster that night, and Kit wrote a letter to be dispatched straight back to Anabel’s household.

Matthew,

I know that you are the very essence of reserve and respect. I know you would never make presumptions of any sort. Since I have none of those qualities, I take leave to say something presumptuous.

If you love my sister, you must tell her so. Let me rephrase that—I know that you love Pippa. I also know that you are waiting for her to make the choice. In this matter, you are wrong. She will not come to you. You must go to her and break whatever fear is holding her silent. Her Highness has failed—I have failed—you are the only one who can reach her now.

C. Courtenay





Their brief visit to Compton Wynyates turned out to be even more fraught than Pippa had expected. It had been difficult enough to keep her secrets from Kit, with a twin’s far too intimate knowledge. But Compton Wynyates, the beautiful house belonging to Lucie and Julien, had welcomed the Duke and Duchess of Exeter two days before the northern party rode in. Pippa sighed inwardly at the thought of meeting her parents and braced herself to tell more lies to more people.