The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(37)

Indeed, that was nearly the first thing James said. “I believe you knew my mother, Lord Stephen.” Though he was no longer—and never again would be, Stephen knew—an English earl, he was still the son of a duke.

“For a short time, Your Majesty. At Tutbury.” It also would not do to let James forget that Mary was no friend to England. Or to her son.

“Yes, my mother has written of you. In no very flattering terms. Since she describes me across Europe in much those same terms, I find myself disposed to like you.”

James then turned his attention to Maisie, who would look at ease wherever she went precisely because she did not try to be other than herself. “And Mistress Sinclair, who has so neatly managed to upset every businessman in Scotland. I hear most of them now fear that the clever females of their families will run amok.”

“If they are inclined to run amok, then they are not likely to make good merchants or bankers, Your Majesty.”

“Quite. And I suppose I am hardly in a position to condemn clever females, seeing as I am about to meet my own very clever betrothed. That is why the both of you are here.”

Stephen chanced a quick glance at Maisie. She looked inscrutable and unshockable as always.

“We leave Edinburgh tomorrow for Annan and Hoddom Castle. I will cross the border during the days to meet with Her Highness, but I will not spend the nights in England. The two of you will be part of my retinue.”

Stephen would not have been more surprised if James had offered to make him an earl in Scotland. What did James Stuart care about him? But beneath the bewilderment was a sudden, aching need to see his family. His parents would not be there, of course, and he’d spent plenty of time with Kit recently. But his sisters? All at once Stephen wanted nothing more in the world than to see Lucie and Pippa.

“It will be an honour, Your Majesty.” Maisie spoke without inflection.

“Yes, it will. An honour I could hardly refuse to offer, seeing as it has been requested by Princess Anne herself. In such strong terms that I suspect she may decline to meet with me in person if the two of you are not also present.”

Stephen knew he must point out the obvious. “Queen Elizabeth has not invited me to return to England, Your Majesty.”

“Queen Elizabeth will not be at Carlisle. I do not intend to leave you in England, Lord Stephen. I understand the force you are training at St. Adrian’s is quite…valuable. I have no interest in their commander leaving us before they can be of service.”

It was so easy to capitulate, because it was what he wanted. “Of course I will do as you wish, Your Majesty.”

They were outside the castle before Stephen’s head stopped spinning. He looked accusingly at Maisie. “This is your doing. You wrote to Anabel’s court and suggested we be included in the Scots party. Why?”

She did not bother to deny the charge. “I have business to transact with Her Highness’s household. Now that the assets of the Sinclair company are at my disposal, I can offer her greater opportunities for her investments.”

“And you could cross the border yourself anytime you wanted to transact that business. Why Carlisle?”

She simply looked at him, and for once her face was not unreadable. It was alive with amusement and irritation and the sort of tolerant affection directed at small children slow to understand. “For your sake, Stephen.”





Anabel rode into Carlisle in a burst of summer beauty that showed the borderlands at their best. Kit rode at her side; as Lieutenant General of the Marches, he was the commanding military officer for all the northern border. They were welcomed with good grace by the Warden of the West March—and new privy council member—Lord Scrope, with a pageant that served as a preview to the coming meeting between England and Scotland. Praises were sung, music was played, flowers were thrown, and at last Anabel was escorted to her suite of chambers and ordered everyone out except Pippa.

During the pageantry, Pippa had never been near enough to her princess for Anabel to guess how she might be feeling. Anabel knew she had been unhappy about being sent ahead to Carlisle with Matthew. It was Kit who suggested it, and now Anabel was curious as to how the two of them had fared.

She hardly needed to ask. The moment she turned Pippa to face her in the light streaming through the leaded glass, she knew. The sunlight was as nothing to the illumination in Pippa’s face. Anabel caught her breath, then laughed triumphantly.

“It seems Carlisle is indeed the place for lovers to meet! I am so glad, Pippa.”

“Glad enough to do something for me?”

“Whatever you like.”

“Matthew and I want to get married.”

“I can see that,” Anabel said drily. “I cannot wait to throw you the most lavish wedding England has seen in years.”

“On Thursday.”

Anabel stared. “Thursday. As in three days from now?”

“Yes.”

She was about to protest, to make all the arguments against it, but stopped herself. Pippa would have anticipated them all. “On one condition—that Kit and Lucette give their consent. If your parents are going to punish anyone for allowing this to happen without their knowledge, Pippa, I want their anger aimed at your siblings first.”

It had been a long time since she’d seen Pippa smile so blindingly. “Agreed.”