The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(40)

“Oh dear Lord.” Lady Frances turned pale and sat down.

“My lady?”

“The Earl of Rutland is courting my daughter Elizabeth. He is twenty-two years old, I believe.”

Another guiser trying to get close to Grey’s network? That was all they needed. “He is only one man. Who else can you think of?”

Lady Frances counted on her fingers. “There’s Nottingham’s eldest, Lord Howard of Effingham. He’s only twenty-one, but he was elected to Parliament last year. Unfortunately his father’s investiture as earl made him ineligible for the Commons, so he left for Ireland under the Earl of Essex.”

“Hmm. A possible candidate, though it leaves the young prince vulnerable. Go on.”

“Northumberland’s brother Josceline is around two-and-twenty also.”

“Christ’s balls! How I would love that strutting codpiece to be discovered a traitor. I’d take great pleasure in gutting him myself.”

Lady Frances ignored the outburst.

“And then there’s Elizabeth de Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford,” she went on. “She used to be lady-in-waiting to Princess Juliana, until she married Lord Derby.”

“When was that?”

“Four years ago.”

“The year after your father-in-law died, and less than a year after Prince Henry was born. Do you think perhaps someone wanted her away from court, and away from the prince?”

“If they did, they failed. She is more often at court than at her husband’s home; indeed, it is quite the scandal. She is said to have had affairs with Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Essex, though my sources have been unable to confirm it.”

“The girl has spirit, then, and she’s ambitious.” Reminds me of someone I once knew… “Well, that’s given me plenty of food for thought. Thank you, my lady.”



Mal walked home, his mind awhirl. So, two generations of guisers in one family. Just like Sandy and Kit, and possibly the Shawes as well. After all, what better place to raise another guiser than within your own family? Damn it, he had been a fool not to think of it sooner. If he compared Selby’s list against the names Lady Frances had suggested, it might reveal some pattern. Then there were the young candidates themselves. None were sufficiently well-placed to be influential at court, but perhaps not all guisers aimed for high office. A man of power was constrained by duty and could not always go where he pleased. Better to be a relative nobody, or a young wastrel like Jos Percy. Indeed the web of connections to Northumberland made the earl’s brother a very plausible candidate.

As Mal neared the Sign of the Parley he noticed that the front gate was ajar. He paused in a doorway on the other side of the street. This was it. Should he run, or let them arrest him?

Long moments passed, with no sign of armed guards. At last the door opened and a fair-haired lad in travel-stained clothing stepped out into the street. Mal burst out laughing with relief, and ran across the road to greet his wife.



Coby hunched over the kitchen table, poking a spoon distractedly into her own pottage whilst watching Susanna feed Kit. It was a messy business, since Kit was old enough now to use a spoon himself, and provided harmless amusement for them all. Even Sandy managed a smile, though he was grey-faced from a sleepless week on the road.

As soon as they had finished supper Mal ushered her upstairs, insisting that the dishes could wait until morning. In truth she was only too glad to get out of the filthy clothes she had been wearing for the past few days, and her nakedness had the predictable effect on her husband.

“Not too sleepy yet?” he asked, getting into bed beside her.

She chuckled and ran her fingers through the dark wiry curls covering his chest. There were a few more silver ones than she remembered. “Perhaps not that sleepy…”

The night was mild and close, and sweat quickly pooled between their bodies as they moved together. She couldn’t help but giggle as they parted with a loud squelch, like a boot being pulled out of mud.

“You find my lovemaking ridiculous, do you?” Mal pulled a face, barely visible in the late evening gloom.

For an answer she drew him closer and kissed him again.

“Oh, I have missed thee, good wife,” he sighed when she let him go. “Though unless you have other garb in your saddlebags, methinks my wife had best disappear and we will put it about that her cousin Jacob is back in London.”

“No, I have nothing else besides the gown I lent to Susanna,” she said quietly, staring up at the shadowed canopy. “We were able to save very little from the fire.”

He sat up in bed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I cannot believe Frogmore betrayed us.” His voice was steel-edged, as if a different man sat by her side than the one who had made gentle love to her. “Is there no one we can trust?”

“We have each other,” she said. “And Sandy, and Kit.”

“Aye.”

She looked up at the bitter tone in his voice. “It wasn’t your fault–”

“No? If I hadn’t made such a bold move against Selby, the other guisers would never have taken their revenge on… on my loved ones.” He slammed a hand against the bedpost, making Coby jump. “Damn it, you nearly died, and Kit and Sandy too. And Rushdale is…”