The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(60)

And when Mass was finished, Philip knew what he would do next.

Not only for Anne’s sake. This was more than a matter of battle plans and troop movements. This was a crusade. And one did not launch a crusade without meticulous and wide-ranging preparation.

After Mass, Philip retired to his private study and the hours of daily and solitary work ahead of him. He loathed traveling and, other than to England four times during his marriage, had not been out of Castile in twenty years. To compensate for his lack of personal presence, his governors and generals and advisors abroad sent long, detailed reports almost daily.

These consultas formed the basis of his control of the far-flung Spanish Empire. His soldiers in Ireland had been disentangled from Irish engagements and held themselves ready to support the Enterprise of England. Philip had allotted five hundred soldiers to bolster the Earl of Desmond in holding what they had gained from England. Frankly, Philip didn’t much care if Desmond held on. Not politically, at least. And as for religion—well, all he need do was defeat England and Ireland would be preserved.

The news from the Netherlands was less encouraging. The rebels had been fighting for fifteen years and showed a continuing reckless disregard for Spain’s strength or God’s truth. His nephew, Alessandro Farnese, had been Governor-General there since 1578, following in the footsteps of his mother, Margaret of Parma. Margaret, Philip’s illegitimate half sister, had served him well enough in her time, but he never trusted anyone wholly. Not even his own blood.

But the month’s most shocking news did not come in the form of a consulta. It was hand-delivered from a courier who was covered in sweat and grime from his desperate ride to El Escorial. Clearly he had known the significance of his message, if not its details. The details were shocking and desperate enough to make even Philip lose his control and exclaim aloud.

Mary Stuart, Queen of Spain, being overtaken in the Irish Sea, has been forced into harbor at Dumbarton, Scotland. It is not yet known if she will be welcomed by her former subjects, or if resentments against her still run high enough for her liberty to be constrained.



He had warned her this Irish venture was a bad idea. But though Philip would protest furiously any affront to his pride and his queen, he could not bring himself to be personally enraged. He had always known Mary was her own worst enemy. Perhaps the Scots would do him a favour.





3 January 1586


Wynfield Mote


After the tense and intentionally difficult council at Kenilworth Castle between Elizabeth and Anabel, Dominic and I remained at Wynfield for Christmas. I consider myself accustomed now to the absence of our grown children, but Christmas is difficult without them. There are so many memories here of excited faces and high voices and bare feet dashing across cold floors in play. Or, sometimes, fighting. And not just Kit and Stephen. Pippa was always a peacemaker, but Lucie could more than hold her own against her brothers, and she never hesitated to use her lofty superiority as the oldest to remind them so.

It is much quieter now. And yet, there is still the heart of my happiness, for Dominic has always been the foundation of our lives. Mourning for the past is tempered, as always, by the security of his love.

We will remain here until the weather breaks or until events force us back into the world. It will no doubt be sooner than we would wish.





12 January 1586


Wynfield Mote


Thankfully, Lucie has begun writing to us again—as her parents, not as the queen’s supporters. And although she has never entirely regained the lightheartedness of her childhood, I can detect once more the laughter and sparkle beneath her dry wit. It can mean only one thing—she has made her peace with Julien. That is one less worry in the troubles to come.

As for Pippa, she is keeping her own counsel more than she usually does. Her reticence might be nothing more than being wrapped up in her new husband, but I doubt it. Does she not understand that my imagination supplies much worse scenarios than whatever the truth is? One day my children will be parents and then perhaps they will begin to comprehend.

Kit writes short missives sent from his constant travels along the border. I know better than to expect personal outpourings from him. And Stephen has sent only one letter since he left for Ireland.

Time to shut the door on the outside world, even that of our children. Those who think passion must necessarily die with age…well, they are not married to Dominic. Or me.





15 January 1586


Wynfield Mote


So much for the closed doors. A messenger arrived from Kit in the North, riding as though the devil were on his heels. We expected more news about Mary Stuart and her enforced stay in Dumbarton while King James decides what is to be done with her. But the news was much more shocking than that. For though the messenger was sent through the Warden of the West March, the message itself was from Stephen.

On January 2, I married Mariota Sinclair. I apologize for the shock. We intend to come south as soon as can be arranged.

I hardly know what to think. Are we such frightening parents that half of our children dared not risk coming to us in advance of marriage? Or even wish our presence at such a moment? Dominic and I may have married in secret, but there were hardly any adults we might have asked! Only Dominic’s mother, who like as not would not have known her son in any case.

Where I was the one most upset to miss Pippa’s wedding, Dominic has taken Stephen’s secrecy much more to heart. It is hard for him, missing his sons. Perhaps because he always found it more difficult to tell them how he felt.