The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(91)

Until Anabel spoke, bewildered and wary. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Now? Lord Scrope’s men won’t be ready for another hour.”

“I’m not going to Hull.”

He flinched when she touched him, and forced himself to meet her eyes. He knew she could read the terror in them.

“Kit, what is wrong? What’s happened?”

“Pippa.” He couldn’t speak more yet, had to shake his head to clear his throat. “She’s hurt, she’s…I have to go.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’m going with you.” And then she did hesitate, long enough to be practical. “Do you know where?”

He did know, the same way he knew Pippa was gravely injured. “Pontefract.”





The only reason Stephen Courtenay didn’t kill Tomás Navarro where he stood was because he didn’t want to spare time—or thought—for anyone while Pippa lay bleeding on the hard ground. His own men expertly took the Spanish soldiers, and if they handled Navarro particularly roughly, no one was going to complain.

He knelt by his sister and didn’t know whether to be relieved that she was unconscious. Better for her, probably.

“I can help,” Madalena Arias said at his shoulder. “And someone should see to Matthew. We had to pull two arrows out of him.”

Stephen raised his head. “Is he all right?”

She nodded toward the tower, and Stephen saw his brother-in-law coming rapidly to his wife, bloody bandages on his shoulder and arm.

Between the three of them—and, best of all, the Scottish surgeon Stephen had prudently brought with him—they got the wound cleaned. They were just arguing about where to take her when her eyes fluttered open.

“Matthew.”

Instantly he was there, then Pippa’s eyes turned to her brother. “Stephen,” she acknowledged. “Take me to Pontefract.”

“That’s twenty miles—”

“Pontefract,” she insisted firmly. “I shall reach there perfectly safely. I know it.”

Stephen met Matthew’s eyes and waited. When Matthew reluctantly nodded, he sighed. “You’d damn well better be right,” he said grimly to Pippa. “I’m not explaining to Kit why I hurt you any more than necessary.”

Her smile was faint but genuine. “I’ll be sure to tell him it was all my fault.”

They reached Pontefract around midnight. Stephen was not familiar with the castle, but Matthew and Madalena both knew it well, for Anabel had often been here. The governor of the castle met them outside the walls and quickly had Pippa carried to a spacious chamber.

Both Matthew and Madalena went with Pippa, but when Stephen made to follow, the governor touched his arm.

“They’re in the solar, Lord Stephen.”

He blinked. “Who is?”

“Your family.”

Stephen shook his head, certain that exhaustion had made him mishear the man. But he did not retract the surprising statement, and so Stephen followed him, bewildered. And sure enough, there were four people waiting in the solar who he knew perfectly well: his mother and father, with Lucette and Julien. His mother and Lucie paused just long enough to hug him and then followed the governor to the chamber where Pippa had been taken.

Stephen remained in the solar with his father and Julien. “How…” he began, and couldn’t finish his sentence.

He was suddenly aware of how utterly exhausted he was, and tense with it. His muscles were cramped from riding and subdued panic, and his father must have seen it, because he said abruptly, “Sit down before you fall down. Then tell us.”

He told his story succinctly, from Kit and Anabel’s arrival at his camp, to his dash for Hull and the subsequent hunt for Navarro and the Spanish on Pippa’s trail.

“We were just too late. Another minute earlier—” He broke off. “Navarro got his damage in right before I reached him.”

“Where is he?”

“My men are bringing him in.”

“Good.”

From the way his father pronounced that single word, Stephen thought it was not at all good for Tomás Navarro. He didn’t much care.

Again he asked, “How? How do you happen to be at Pontefract? Shouldn’t you be in Dover or Portsmouth or even Tilbury?”

“I should always be where my children are in danger. As to the how…” Dominic scrubbed his hand through hair the same black as Stephen’s, now liberally streaked with silver. “We had letters from Dr. John Dee. Your mother and I, and Lucette.” Dominic nodded to where Julien sat silent in this face of family crisis.

For the first time, Stephen looked closely at his father and realized that he was, indeed, growing older. Dominic said flatly, “Dee told us to be at Pontefract on this day. He did not tell us why—only that it was of vital importance. I wish…If I find out that he knew what was going to happen and did not warn us, there will be a reckoning.”

—

Every minute spent nursing Pippa was an agony for Lucette. Not because Pippa complained—she could not have been sweeter-tempered. Partly it was the natural protectiveness of an older sister. Partly, it was the nature of Pippa’s injuries. It was one thing to tend a person who was ill, another matter entirely when the damage had been wrought by human hands. Once before, Lucette had tended someone deliberately and maliciously injured, when Julien had done battle with his brother. But to see the stripes on Pippa’s back and the terrible wound made by a dagger—both injuries done by a supposed man of God—made Lucette’s jaw ache from holding her tongue so as not to pour out invectives before her sister.