The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(56)
They covered the distance to Wynfield Mote in cold and silence and it was a relief to see the lights of the manor house that had given Anabel more hours of warmth and joy than any royal palace. She and Matthew crossed the moat to the interior courtyard, where they were met by Dominic Courtenay and ushered out of the cold.
Only once inside Wynfield’s enclosing walls did Anabel throw back her hood and consign her cloak into Carrie Harrington’s waiting hands. Then Matthew vanished with his mother and Dominic asked her, “Ready?”
“It is good of you to take these risks, my lord.”
He raised skeptical brows. “Risky to welcome both my present and future queens into my home? Most men would give their right hand for such an honour.” He looked wryly down at his own missing left hand and, surprisingly, smiled.
“But you are not most men, Lord Exeter. And my thanks to you are not as the thanks I offer to others.”
Still smiling, a little sadly, Dominic leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s get you to your mother so we can get you safely on your way back. I know my daughter—Pippa will find it difficult to stay confined to a single chamber while pretending to be you.”
The queen greeted her in the study situated at one corner of the quadrangular house. The fire was lit and the space small enough for a coziness unusual in the chambers inhabited by royalty. Elizabeth Tudor could never appear less than royal, but in this house she looked softer than elsewhere.
“Any difficulties?” she asked as Dominic ushered Anabel in and then closed the door on the two women.
Anabel shook her head. “Not on our part. And I don’t anticipate anyone breaking into my chamber at Kenilworth to confirm I’m the one in my bed. As long as I can slip back in without being stopped, all will be well.”
“And if you cannot?”
“Then I let it be thought I summoned Kit to Wynfield Mote to meet me away from prying eyes,” she replied airily.
Elizabeth made a skeptical sound. “Let us hope it does not come to that. So, to business.”
“Tomás Navarro has been writing secretly to Philip Howard and other influential Catholics. Fortunately for me, the Earl of Arundel trusts my intentions more than he does those of a Spanish priest. For now. It is when Arundel stops passing on those letters that it will be time to worry.”
“We cannot afford to wait out this winter. Every day must prepare us for war. With the concentration of Spanish troops along the Irish coast, our months are numbered before they are headed to our shores.”
“How do you suggest I prepare the North without alienating Navarro and risking my new bonds with the Catholics?” Anabel asked.
“By playing on every Englishman’s overriding prejudice—the suspicion of foreigners. It should not be difficult to provide Navarro an opportunity to overreach himself. I suspect his first move will be to co-opt your cooperation. I don’t know how, but I promise you, at some point he will approach you with a deal the Spanish think will ensure your compliance.”
“Do I accept that deal?”
“That will be for you to decide,” Elizabeth said. “We both know that our chances of defeating Spain rise with each month—each day—we can preserve the fiction of our estrangement. The longer we can wait to spring the trap, the better.”
“The trap only works if the North is convinced of Spain’s perfidy. It cannot be merely a religious war. It must be seen as a fight for England’s survival.”
“And so it is. Do not ever make the mistake of forgetting that. You will know how to frame it, Anne. I trust your instincts.” Elizabeth drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “And if the Spanish are not so easily accommodating as to provide a reason for the North to revolt, then create one.”
“You are confident in your preparations in the South?”
“With Dominic leading the way? We are confident enough. Which is to say, in any fight we will almost certainly be outnumbered in terms of trained soldiers. But only if the Spanish can land. I trust our navy to ensure that does not happen. It will be up to you and your Wardens of the Marches to protect the northern ports. And your relationship with James Stuart should provide any extra men you need.”
“So it should.”
Her mother glanced at her sharply. “You are discontented?”
“No more than any royal woman unable to choose.”
Elizabeth waited, but when Anabel declined to elaborate, she shook her head. “None of this will matter if we fall to Spain. How much choice will you be allowed with the Inquisition in force amongst our people? Who might you be forced to marry in that case? It will hardly matter, because the Spanish will ensure whoever it is will take England’s crown matrimonial and reign as king in your place. Is that what you wish—to be nothing more than a figurehead?”
“I assume you do not actually require an answer.”
“No. I think we are finished. Let’s get you and Matthew returned before anyone does take it into their head to check personally on your health.”
Neither of them was much for sentiment, so Anabel was a little surprised when her mother walked out with her to bid farewell. But it was just as well, because there was the sound of running feet and then Dominic was at the door of the Great Hall, Minuette two steps behind him.
Elizabeth looked swiftly between them. “What is wrong?”