The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(26)

“Very wise. Well, we won’t disturb him now.”

Susanna appeared at the front door of the house and immediately crouched and held out her arms. Kit ran to her, and they disappeared into the house together. Truly, Susanna looked far more like Kit’s mother than Coby did, and she was genuinely attached to the boy. Perhaps it was not surprising, since the Italian girl had lost her own child just before they hired her.

“Come,” Coby said, “why don’t we walk in the garden and you can tell me all about it. Unless you’d rather rest a while?”

“No, I need to stretch my legs a little before I sit down. A walk would be perfect.”

She put her arm in his and they strolled round the back of the house to the walled garden. Rows of apple and pear trees, pruned and trained so that they were no higher than Coby’s chin, stood in ranks to catch the sun, a last few fruits glowing amongst their faded leaves. She glanced up at the house, but all the windows were closed against the damp air.

For long moments neither of them spoke, and Coby began to feel sure Mal had naught but bad news. The last she had heard, Ned and Gabriel had been arrested; were they now dead?

“I fear I may have done something a little rash,” he said at last.

She listened in wonder as he told her of Grey’s instructions, and his alternative solution.

“You broke them out of prison? My love, they’ll arrest you the minute you set foot back in London.”

“Then I won’t go back.”

“You have to. You said you would get rid of the guisers, no matter what it takes.”

He slipped his arm around her waist. “You seem in a great hurry to be rid of me.”

“I didn’t mean right now,” she sighed. “But one day.”

“I know.”

He bent his head and kissed her. At the touch of his lips, all thought of London friends and enemies fled, like autumn leaves blown before a gale. He was here, now, with her. That was all that mattered.

He took hold of her wrist and pulled her behind the yew hedge that bordered the herb beds. From the urgency with which he thrust his hips against hers, his intent was clear.

“What if the servants see us?” she whispered.

“Then they’ll know their master is in love with his wife and overjoyed to be with her again.”

He pulled up her skirts and thrust a hand beneath them. She gasped at the touch, and he drew back with a grin.

“What, still wearing drawers like a boy?”

“I feel naked without them.”

“Naked. I like the sound of that word.”

He pulled at the drawstring and let the loosened undergarment fall to the ground, then cupped a bare buttock in each hand.

“Aah, your hands are like ice!”

“Then let me warm them,” he said, pulling her close and stifling any further complaint with another kiss.

She slipped a hand down between their bellies and began unbuttoning his breeches. Tempting as it was to take revenge by slipping her own cold fingers inside, she hadn’t the heart for such cruelty. Instead she withdrew her hand as soon as the last button was undone, and let him press against her again.

“Oh sweet Mother of God, Mina, how I have missed thee!” he murmured, his breath hot in her ear.

And how I have longed to hear you call me by that name again.

He pushed her back against the damp orchard wall, lifted her up and thrust gently but determinedly inside her. And they shall be one flesh. She clung to him as he shuddered in his pleasure, both of them blind to everything but the need to drive away all memory of their separation. She whispered incoherent words of love and kissed his brow, and at last he released her, slumping against the wall with a mazed look on his face.

Coby glanced around to reassure herself they had not been seen, then retrieved her drawers and put them back on. By the time she was respectable again, Mal had fastened his own clothing and was standing by the wall with folded arms and a smug grin on his face.

“Now that was a warm welcome home,” he said. “I should go away more often.”

Coby plucked an apple from a nearby espalier and mimed aiming it at him. He pretended to duck and ran off laughing. She picked up her skirts and chased after him, finally catching up at the back door. He drew her in for another kiss, but she put a finger to his lips.

“Later. You need to go and see Sandy.”

Mal frowned. “Why so grave? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I think… Well, you’ll know when you see him.”

He released her and strode into the house without another word. Coby stood on the back doorstep, hugging herself against his sudden, painful absence. Why could I not have kept my mouth shut a little longer? But he had to know, sooner or later.



Mal made his way up to the private apartments on the first floor. Sandy had taken the room they had shared as boys, at the end of the east wing. The larger chamber before it, which had once been Charles’, looked now to have been converted to a nursery for Kit, though there was no sign of his son or the nursemaid. He crossed the room, stepping over a fallen toy horse on wheels, and knocked gently on the door.

“Sandy?”

No reply. He eased the door open. The room beyond was dark and the air over-warm and thick with the bitter, tobacco-like scent of qoheetsakhan, the skrayling dream-herb. Sandy lay on the bed, fully clothed, hands folded on his chest like a corpse. For a moment Mal thought his brother was dead and his wife had been unable to break the news, and an involuntary cry caught in his throat. Sandy’s eyes snapped open.