The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(96)

“Sorry, sir, no one’s allowed in or out except to collect their dead. Privy Council’s orders.”

“But you could bring her to the gate, could you not? As long as I do not enter the Tower and she does not leave, there can be no problem.”

The guard scratched his beard. “I suppose not.”

“Well, then.” Mal folded his arms and gave the man an expectant look. After a few seconds he took the hint.

“Right you are, sir.”

Mal watched him cross the causeway and disappear through the gate of the Byward Tower, then turned his attention back to the gatehouse.

“This is where the Queen and her ladies were lodged after the attack on the king?” he asked the other guard.

“How’d you know that?” The younger man’s brow wrinkled in suspicion.

“Because I was here that day, helping to convey His Majesty to safety.”

The guard’s eyes widened, and he looked at Mal with more respect.

“That’s right, sir. The chamber above isn’t used for much in peace time.”

Mal nodded thoughtfully. It had a good view of the space in front of the gates, and perhaps of the causeway; an ideal place from which to direct operations. He wondered if Olivia had somehow managed to slip ahead of the procession and make her way up there. Afterwards, no one would have questioned her presence in the Queen’s sanctuary. The woman left nothing to chance, that was plain.

The minutes passed painfully slowly, but at last the first guard returned with Coby. Her expression remained guarded, hands clasped tight at her waist as she crossed the causeway. He couldn’t blame her. He had promised to get Kit out of London, and he had failed. The fact that it was none of his own fault didn’t matter.

When at last she reached the shadow of the gatehouse, he allowed himself to step forward a pace and hold out his arms in greeting. She hesitated before stepping into his embrace.

“If you love our son, feign gladness,” he whispered in her ear. “I must speak to you privily.”

To his relief she slipped her arms around his waist, though she trembled almost as much as she had that very first time he held her, in the shadows of an alley where her male guise would not attract attention. Tentatively, still fearing she might recoil, he kissed her brow, then released her and went over to the first guard.

“Look here,” he said in a low voice, glancing back towards Coby. “I haven’t had the pleasure of my wife’s company in many nights, if you know what I mean.”

The guard gave him a quizzical look. Mal took a silver crown from his purse and pressed it into the man’s hand.

“One of these for you and your comrade here, and another for yourself when we’re done. For the hire of the chamber above.”

“That’s very generous, sir.”

“Not at all. You men work hard in the defence of the Crown, you deserve a little pleasure of your own.”

Mal took his wife’s arm and they were shown up to the chamber above the guard-room. A couple of cots stood against the wall, surrounded by empty barrels, bundles of kindling and other detritus of soldiering. Mal thanked the man, then closed the door and waited, listening for his retreating footsteps. When he was certain no one was eavesdropping, he led Coby over to one of the cots.

“Just for the look of it,” he said, “in case we’re interrupted.”

For a moment he thought she would refuse. Well, she had every right to doubt him until he had proven himself. He sat down on the cot and gestured for her to sit beside him. “First we need to get you and Kit out of here.”

She smiled at last, with a shadow of the mischief they used to delight in sharing. “I was already working on a plan, but your advice would be welcome.”

He listened to her description of the reconnoitre, nodding and prompting for more information at intervals.

“The eastern exit? That must be the one they call the Iron Gate. You will leave tonight?”

“The moon is scarce past new,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement now. “There can be no better time.”

He took her hand, and she did not resist. “Then I shall be waiting for you outside the gate, from midnight until an hour before dawn.”

She leant forward a little, and to his surprise he realised she was inviting a kiss. He obliged, intending it to be only the briefest of caresses, but the touch of her lips on his shook him to the core. Before he knew it he had taken her in his arms and was kissing her jaw, her throat, weeping his regrets into her unbound hair.

“Ssh, my love,” he heard her murmur, but that only made it worse.

With an effort he gathered the shreds of his dignity and pulled one hand free to wipe his eyes. When he looked up, her eyes were shining too. He opened his mouth to apologise for his past heartlessness, but she reached up and put a finger to his lips.

“What need we of words?” she whispered, and kissed him again.

By the time the guard knocked politely on the door half an hour later their reconciliation was complete, and they went their separate ways with lightened hearts and many a secret smile.



Kit spent a very dull morning and an even duller afternoon alone in his bedchamber, Doctor Renardi having forbidden him to attend lessons in case he overtaxed his mind too soon after his seizure. At first Kit had been delighted, but then the doctor also forbade reading or physical exertion, so he had nothing to do except stare out of the window. For a while he amused himself by watching the sentries patrolling the battlements and trying to count the ravens that flew around the little towers of the great keep, but even that became boring after a while.