The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(84)

With the distinctive matter of hair settled, it was then a matter of dress and bearing. Pippa had always dressed well at court, but no one dressed as well as the Princess of Wales. Even when the fabrics were similar, a royal gown had an edge to it. And a gown chosen for a royal surrender must be especially splendid. Cloth of gold, so overembroidered with metallic thread as to be nearly as thick as leather. Silk velvet in a shade of blue-green that moved like water beneath the overgown. A ruff large enough to be ornamental but restrained enough to make riding practical where necessary. Pearls clustered in drops along the neckline and cuffs. With each layer and ribbon and lacing and button, Pippa felt herself being pressed into the royal mold.

They pinned the red-gold of her wig high on the crown and left the rest loose beneath a cap of velvet and satin. The hair was her banner, her safe-conduct to the Spanish ship at Hull. With her would ride Matthew and Madalena. There had been some talk that Navarro would find it odd that Matthew had come, but he cut it off firmly. “Once Navarro sees me, he’ll be close enough to see her and know she isn’t the princess. I’m going.”

When Pippa and Anabel were finished, they came together once more, each surveying the other with frank curiosity.

“Do I really look so haughty?” Anabel asked.

“You are being forced to deal with a man who is blackmailing you. I thought haughtiness was a given.” Pippa studied her friend, attired in a blue taffeta gown trimmed in navy velvet. It was one of Pippa’s favorites, and she had worn it often enough for people to associate it with her. It was disconcerting to see that streak of black in the blonde wig opposite her—a streak that was as much the marker of Pippa as Anabel’s red-gold.

That was entirely the point.

“Just remember to be concerned,” Pippa advised.

“I won’t have to remember that.”

It was not the time nor place for more than matter-of-fact farewells. “Be safe, Anabel. And move quickly—I would prefer to spend as little time in Navarro’s company as possible.”

When they had embraced, Pippa turned to the much more difficult farewell—her twin. Kit knew something vital had been left unsaid in all this. Pippa could not afford to let him know what it was, or he might hesitate to do what he must.

So she spoke rapidly, with the confidence she’d had years to practice. “It will be raining after midnight,” she warned Kit. “Get down to the river behind the Council House. There’s a skiff there big enough for the two of you. Dress in dark clothing and you won’t be seen.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Pippa.” Kit caught her arm when she tried to turn away. “I don’t like this.”

“There is nothing to like. There is only what must be done.”

“What are you not telling me?”

She shook free of his hold and put both hands to his face, pulling it down to look him squarely in the eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes that both her brothers had from Minuette—a constant shifting of brown and green and gold. In his worry, Kit’s were darker tonight than she ever remembered seeing them.

“One thing at a time, twin mine. Get her out of the city. Get her to Stephen’s troops. Alert Lord Scrope. Once those three things are done, you will know what to do next.”

“Don’t taunt Navarro, Pippa. He’s going to be furious—worse, he’ll be humiliated. He won’t like being fooled by a girl, especially not one he considers—”

“A witch?” Pippa said lightly, but there was a shiver of unease along her spine. “I may not be the Princess of Wales, but my name still has value. He cannot lightly hurt me.”

“There won’t be time,” Kit declared flatly. “Lord Scrope and his men will see to the safety of York. Stephen and I will be coming for you.”

“I know.” She smiled brilliantly and kissed him on each cheek, to hide the two words that pounded hard behind her eyes, so desperately was she working to lock them away from Kit’s mind.

Too late.

In the event, it was far easier than anyone could have predicted—other than Pippa, who knew that fate had led to this path and it would unfold before her without difficulty. The Spanish guards in York were all strangers, and within two minutes it was obvious they saw what they expected to see: a young woman of twenty-four with a shining fall of Tudor red hair and the bearing of a princess born to two ruling monarchs. Surrounded by guards, the English group rode south twenty miles to Howden, and then took to the River Ouse in a barge hastily converted for the purpose of transporting a royal princess who was something between a prisoner and a guest. The guards were not inclined to be talkative, and Pippa kept Matthew and Madalena close around her to protect her privacy.

By the time they reached Hull, Pippa had herself in perfect balance for what lay ahead. She felt as though nothing could surprise her, nothing shock her, nothing hurt her. She had been born for this. She would not fail.

There were three Spanish ships in port at Hull, the largest with the banner of Mary Stuart flying proudly. There was no question of the English group being allowed to remain on land. The Spanish would want Anabel where they could not only protect her, but remove her swiftly out of English hands if she proved troublesome. The illusion of the princess being there willingly was rapidly vanishing.

At the base of the dock leading up to La Santa Catalina, Pippa straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and disdainfully eyed the soldiers arrayed above to greet her—or guard her. Black as grim death in their midst stood Tomás Navarro. Though he had always dressed as a proper Jesuit, in this element he looked…more. As though bolstered by the weight of his office when surrounded by men who could enforce his will with violence.