The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(66)
“And…afterward?” Let him think her hesitant to name her mother, a feminine shrinking from the hard facts of what would happen to Elizabeth Tudor. Navarro might be fanatic enough to believe that England’s queen would capitulate short of death—but Philip of Spain knew better than that. Her father knew her mother must die.
Navarro spread his hands wide, as though himself offering her the world. “England has a queen willing to rule in partnership with Holy Church.”
How deluded they all were! And how willfully they misread the tenor of the English. Even the most fanatic Catholics—a fraction of the minority—would hesitate to allow the Pope and Spain to dictate English policy once more.
“If I am to be neutral, then I must know when and where such will be called for. It would hardly do for me to be sitting in the very path of your march and be widely seen to do nothing about it. Few of the English could forgive that. I must appear to be too far away and too weak to offer effective aid. England will only accept me if they believe I have done what was possible to protect them.”
Tell me, she silently willed. Tell me when and where your men are landing. Tell me what we need to know to stop you once and for all.
“You will have warning.”
“How much warning?”
“You understand that precise dates will not be decided until shortly before. So much depends on the weather and the tides. You should expect perhaps two weeks’ notice.”
“And my…acquiescence will spare the North?”
“There will be some troops landed here. For your safety, of course.”
Anabel had never been so grateful for her training in controlling her reactions. She was as sure as she could be that Navarro saw only her assessing, disinterested gaze. “It goes without saying that not a word of this escapes this room. If it does, I shall know whom to punish.”
He rose and bowed. “As it pleases Your Highness.”
She didn’t believe that for a moment. Anabel felt fairly confident that she could defy her father even to his face and he would not hurt her. But Navarro? He would need to be carefully watched without alarming him, and locked away at the last moment to prevent him from wrecking all their hopes.
One thing at least she could be grateful for. If Kit were the lure to bring her to the Spanish trap, then summoning him fulfilled her purposes perfectly. Also, there was an undeniable thrill of nerves at finally being within sight of the end. Spain would have to attack this year. At most, this would all be over in a matter of months.
—
The King of Scotland was not amused when informed of Mariota Sinclair’s wedding. In the end, Maisie was fairly certain that the only reason James Stuart didn’t order the dissolution of her marriage was the fact that Stephen Courtenay was a close friend to the Princess of Wales. James needed to tread with care in that direction in order to make his own coming marriage successful.
And it didn’t hurt that Maisie owned—and Stephen commanded—a highly trained and deadly force of mercenaries.
With the grudging approval of King James, the condition set for Maisie to keep control of the company had been met. Andrew Boyd greeted the news with real relief. The other board members were warier, waiting to see if she would exact punishment for what might be seen as their betrayal. But Maisie needed only to punish the troublemaker—Robert.
She had declined to take her husband with her to that interview. Actually, it was less an interview and more two people talking at cross-purposes to one another. But Maisie had always had the greater patience and the loudest voice when it counted. She made it plain to Robert that his allowance would continue only so long as he ceased making mischief for her in Edinburgh. He glared at her thunderously as she departed, but she trusted he would drown his anger in wine and brothels rather than risk losing any money.
With that settled, Maisie turned to the trickier business of establishing her marriage in public eyes. Stephen officially moved into the Edinburgh house, but they maintained separate bedrooms. Maisie knew at some point they would have to make the pretense of sharing a bed, but she shied away from that conversation. The last thing she thought she could endure was Stephen taking her for form’s sake—or worse, from pity. So she kept him at one remove, and was grateful when the king appointed him to serve as Warden of the West March.
Then came the letter from his parents. One week after the Courtenays’ formal congratulations—stiff with surprise behind the kindness—the newlyweds rode for England.
The Duke and Duchess of Exeter came all the way north to Carlisle, both to see Stephen and for a formal accounting of English military readiness in the North. Maisie drew a breath of relief when she and Stephen were able to slip into Carlisle Castle without encountering his parents publicly. The Courtenays excelled at tact.
After seeing her settled, Stephen left to find them. He’d been gone only a few minutes when someone knocked on the door. Maisie opened it to discover Dominic Courtenay.
He wore dark colours over the snowy white cuffs and collar of his shirt, with an obvious indifference to how the blues and blacks suited him. Maisie had met him briefly during her stay in London at the queen’s summons, but she’d never had the full force of Lord Exeter’s focus turned on her. She had thought Stephen was intense—he was a child compared to his father.
She stood frozen for so long in her tangle of thoughts that he had finally to ask, “May I come in?”