Annys, the black-toothed old woman who scoured the dishes every day, held up a pewter cup to be filled. “To my mind, any summer as hot and dry as this always end in tears and tantrums. ’Twas so in the last year of Henry, which is the first I remember, and many other years since.”
“I knew not you were a teller of the weather,” stated Oakes, the falconer. He took a deep draught from the steaming jug and wiped his mouth. “What I want to know is, where have all that water come from? There’s no stream hereabouts to overflow, so how could so much have built up in one place?”
Alys had been wondering the same thing.
“Mayhap ’tis the wrath of God,” Kit offered. “Have any of you wicked secrets to conceal?”
Bessie giggled, Alys’ glare silenced her.
“There was a stream here long before our time,” said Annys. “But I don’t know where the grand folk put it when they built the new house. To my mind, you shouldn’t tangle with nature. That stream will be running below us somewhere, just waiting for the chance to boil up again and reclaim its proper path, you mark my words.”
There was a sudden crash, which made everyone jump. As the kitchen door slammed against the wall, Sir Thomas entered. Alys saw murder in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sir Thomas was followed by a hard-faced Avery and a pallid Kate. Alys was puzzled to see Sir Thomas so upset by the disaster—after all, it wasn’t his house which had been inundated.
Kit’s cold hand reach for hers below the table. She pulled out of his grasp—now was definitely not the time for amorous games. Why did he seem so pleased with himself, anyway? Excitement emanated from his body, which was tense as a bowstring before the arrow is loosed.
Sir Thomas eyed the kitchen’s occupants. “We shall attempt no more salvage until daylight. Return to your beds—there’s nothing else to be done here.” Without waiting to see if his orders were obeyed, he strode out, followed by Kate and Avery. The servants melted away, and Alys was left alone in the kitchen with Kit.
He lifted an eyebrow, a triumphant smirk on his face. Curse the man—the glint in his dark eyes made her knees wobble. Ignoring him, she went to the scullery, tipped the dregs of the ale away, rinsed the jug and set it on the board. When she returned, Kit was crouching by the fire, wringing out his dripping hair over the hearthstone. Clicking her tongue, she edged him aside while she raked the embers together and settled the heavy ceramic curfew back in its place. Then she straightened up and swept past him to extinguish the lights.
“Not speaking to me, then?”
She made no response. The room darkened until only the faint glow of the embers beneath the curfew could be seen. The air was bitter with the smoke of extinguished candles. He ought to know he was required to leave.
When he gave no sign of moving, she said briskly, “Go to your bed now—you need your rest. You have a long journey to make tomorrow.”
“Oh, I don’t think I shall leave tomorrow.” Kit followed her out into the hallway. “I shall be too tired. Besides, I might be needed here.”
Alys, carrying her candle, brushed past him and made for the stairs. It was too late to talk, too much risk of being overheard. Besides which, his smug expression was infuriating—he must find his own way out and sit and drip in the plant shed.
Refusing to look at him again, she stopped on the bottom step of the stairs to untie her pattens—they were high enough for her to turn an ankle, not safe for indoor use. She ascended, waiting for the sound of the door closing to signal Kit’s departure, but heard nothing. When she reached the landing, she stopped and looked over the rail. A faint shadow revealed where he still stood in the hall, watching her.
No, she would feel no guilt. If he was wet, it was his own fault. She’d given them all a chance to dry off—if he preferred sitting next to her to drying by the fire, that was his own choice. She carried on and had just reached the door of her chamber when she heard the stairs creak. Her heart sped up as she fumbled with the latch, trying to balance her candle and the pattens in one hand. He was coming after her.
She burst into her chamber, pushing the door behind her, but it came up against something solid and was pressed open again.
“Surely you don’t expect me to go out again in this?” Kit pointed to the window, where the rain still rattled like handfuls of grit.
“How dare you come in here. I thought I bade you be gone.”
“Aye, you did, and I have chosen to disobey my lady’s command. I have a heavy matter to discuss with you, but I’ve brought a sweetener for the bitter pill.” He closed and locked the door, then reached under his cloak and placed a full wine bottle in her hands.
“You’ve stolen wine from the cellars?” A servant would be flogged for such a crime.
“’Tis your wine, Mistress Barchard. I mean, it belongs to the household. I brought it in the hope you’d be magnanimous and share it with me. Little time is left to us—let’s spend it pleasantly, at least.”
Fearful of what he meant by “pleasant”, she made a valiant grab for the key, but he was too quick for her and dropped it down inside his shirt. The smirk was back.
“Sir, you have no shame. I insist that you unlock that door and leave, or I’ll raise the hue and cry.”
“If you were going to do that,” he said evenly, placing the wine on her carved box, “You would have done it long since. If you do it now, they’ll all wonder how you came to let me in your room in the first place. Your good name would be in tatters.”
She sucked in a deep breath of indignation. A single scream was all that was needed. He took her face in his hands. “Ah, nay. I cannot have you giving me away.”
She stared into dark eyes that danced with danger. Then, totally involuntarily, her gaze dropped to his mouth, which widened in a smile, and he bent his head to capture her lips.
She struggled and pushed him away. “What ails you, man? I’ve warned you off, yet still, you give me no heed. Is there no end to your bare-faced effrontery?”
“Still angry with me? Never mind. I shall shortly resolve your doubts. But first, I must dry my clothes. Again. Excuse me, my lady.”
He turned to the fire and got it going, then pulled the screen she’d been embroidering across to shield him. One after another, various items of male clothing were spread over the top of the screen.
He was undressing. In her chamber. With her. She gulped.
“Have you a cloak or any such thing I may wrap myself in? These flames are too young to warm me.”
She sprang to life. “Tush, keep your voice down!” She grabbed up a blanket from her bed and dropped it over the other side of the screen, averting her eyes.
“I know not what alarms you so. There’s nothing here you have not seen before.”
Disgraceful man. The house had suffered a disaster, and here he was, teasing her, flirting with her. She glared at him as he emerged from behind the screen, swathed in his blanket. He bent to rearrange his shoes on the hearthstone, then looked around the chamber, before choosing to sit on Alys’ bed. The door-key made a brief reappearance but was then tucked beneath his thigh.
“Will you not sit with me? No? Then I shall have to raise my voice for you to hear me.”
Curse it. She needed to hear what he had to say. She sat stiffly on the bed, as far away from him as she could.
“As I said, I have proof to convince you of my mission and the guilt of your friends. You will give me a fair hearing, will you not? And, lest we catch a chill from all the dampness, I suggest we crack open this bottle and warm our insides withal.”
When the opened bottle was offered to her, she poured a little into her mazer and took a swallow. It was a fine Rhenish, quite sweet, and a rare treat.
“You certainly know which wine to steal.” She handed the bottle back to him, then shivered. Now that the radiant heat from the fire was cut off by the screen, the room was cold, so she slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet under her. One of them grazed Kit’s expose
d calf, and he jumped at the contact.
“Your feet are frozen. Here, let me warm them.” Without further ado, he swiveled her around so her feet rested in his blanket-covered lap, and began chafing her toes between his palms.
Alys watched his bent head as he concentrated on his task, and felt herself begin to calm. Staring at Kit, who was always a thrill to look at, she realized he’d never cease to amaze her.
He’d turned her life upside-down, yet expected her to forgive him and remain his friend. He’d shouldered his way into her room, putting both of them at risk, yet he trusted her not to give him away. He’d toiled ceaselessly in the cellars, despite planning to leave, and now he was rubbing the life back into her feet as if he were genuinely concerned. She’d never met anyone like him before, nor did she expect to again.
She pressed her lips together, remembering the heated kiss he’d bestowed on her earlier that day—what a long day it had been! She took another draught of her wine and leaned back, enjoying the sensation of warmth at her feet. “You have something to tell me.”
He stopped his chafing and began idly stroking her toes. “Aye. First, I must ask your forgiveness for creating havoc in your home tonight.”
He’d done it? How?
Chapter Twenty-Six
She looked as if she wanted to murder him. Holding her gaze, Kit stroked her ankle, making tiny circling movements with his finger. It seemed to calm her—or at least, distract her.
“It’s true—I brought about tonight’s catastrophe, but for the best of reasons. You know I was concerned about that dark-skinned foreigner, who attended Kate in the guise of a cunningman. He broke his rosary, and had to pick the beads up off the road.” He reached for his hanging pocket and brought out the Venetian black glass bead, placing it in her palm.
“Keep the bead. If your enemies catch you with it, they’ll think you are one of their own. If my friends catch you with it, they’ll know how much I was prepared to trust you, and will do the same. Anyway, the so-called cunningman didn’t leave the house openly, but emerged from the middle of a hedge onto the highway. I suspected he must have some hidden access to the manor—that’s why I was asking you about the cellars. I pounced on the idea of a tunnel but knew not how to find it. The old pond gave me a fragment of an idea, then the bad weather completed the plan.”
Alys reached for her wine. It slipped down far too easily. No matter—she suspected she was going to need it.
“The level of the old fishpond is above that of the present house. The retaining wall is crumbled and old—it only needed a few bricks to be dislodged and the overflow pipe broken, for the additional pressure of the rainstorm to collapse the whole structure. This would send the water cascading down the slope and into the house. I assumed it would flood the cellars first, then hopefully find its way along the hidden tunnel. Even if it hadn’t revealed the location of the tunnel, I nonetheless hoped its inundation would put it out of commission for a while, and at the very least, delay the plans of the conspirators.”
He reached for the bottle and refilled her cup. “For they are conspirators, Alys. I went down the tunnel and found a hidden cellar, containing an arsenal large enough to destroy Whitehall and all the people in it. I’m sure the plotters have only been waiting to get the household out of the way by sending you to Norfolk before they move in and transfer the weapons to London. I suspect they’ll be smuggled into the palace to await the queen’s return from her summer progress. I’ve sent a dispatch to Walsingham to find the contacts our friends are using in town, for the blackguards must know the palace well, and may be dangerously close to the queen. Tomorrow, I’ll send another dispatch to tell Walsingham what I’ve found—my action tonight should have bought him some time.”
He took a deep draught from the wine bottle, watching Alys’ expression. He had just trusted her with everything he knew—his life, and the lives of many others now depended on her being the person he thought she was.
“Now you see what I’ve been gambling with. Do you understand that with such high stakes, I must take risks and make hard choices? My only regret is that I’ve brought danger to your door. I dearly wish things were otherwise.”
She took another gulp of wine. He was pleased to see the roses returning to her cheeks. “And are you certain it is only Kate, Kirlham and Avery who know? And can you be sure no one else has used the place without their knowledge?”
“Sweetheart, you saw their faces tonight after I ruined their plans for them. I tell you, all three are deeply implicated. And I must advise you to leave here as soon as you possibly can. I’ll make arrangements for you to be taken to a place of safety until the matter has been resolved. I’ve stirred up the hornet’s nest—they will be eager to sting.”
He felt a tremor run through her body. “Oh, Kit, I confess I’m a little frightened.” Hardly surprising. But he knew she had courage. That, combined with her cleverness, would help her through her troubles. He’d do what he could, of course.
“Come.” He held out an arm, and she shifted around to nestle against his side. He liked the feel of her there—more than he ought under such perilous circumstances. He prayed she’d come to no harm through his actions—it would destroy him.
Rubbing his cheek against the silken cloud of her hair, he said, “On the morrow, keep to your room until late. Complain of a headache or some such thing. In the meantime, pack up anything you value. Take the fastest horse in the stable and ride to the field gate where we stood after you’d spoken to the cunningman. I’ll meet you there at noon. Take no risks. I shall make arrangements to have you out of here before the next sunset.”
“The roads will be difficult after the rain.”
“Then we’ll take to the fields. As soon as you are away and safe, Walsingham can send in the soldiers.” Just as soon as he’d sent him word, which he must do ere cockcrow on the morrow.
He yawned, and leaned back against the wall, bringing Alys with him. “Strange how a man can feel tired enough to sleep, even when his life may be in imminent danger. I wonder how long it will take my clothes to dry enough for me to return to my bed.”
Alys sat silent, and he wondered if she’d drifted off. He took the wine cup from her drooping hand. “No more for you tonight, my little dove. Methinks the weariness has caught up with you, too.”
Nodding sleepily, she snuggled up more, her head lolling against his shoulder. He swept her hair gently back from her face, then leaned down and brushed a feather-soft kiss across her wine-moist lips. She sighed, a soft breath that fanned across his bared chest and made the muscles tense in anticipation. He kissed her again, more slowly, his tongue licking the sweet wine traces from her lips. Oh, she was beautiful to him, her rich, dark hair hanging over her shoulders, and running like silk through his fingers. As he feasted his eyes on her, the blue-grey eyes closed, and her breathing slowed. He felt her grow heavy against him, and smiled ruefully—women didn’t normally fall asleep when he kissed them. But this was no ordinary woman.
He laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her, then sat at the foot of the bed. He’d stay while he finished his wine, then get dressed and go.
The rain had settled to a soporific thrumming on the tiles above—the thunder had long since rumbled off into the distance, taking the searing lightning with it. He gazed towards the window and the darkness beyond, listening to the steady drip of water from the eaves.
His shoulders ached from the exertions of the day. It would be so comforting to slide down onto the bed, just for a moment, and relax his back. Slowly, so as not to disturb the sleeping woman, he stretched himself out full-length upon the bed, in the space between her body and the wall.
Idly, he wondered what had become of the key. No matter—it must be amongst the bedclothes somewhere. He’d find it when it was time to go. Resting a hand atop Alys’ slumbering body, he smiled, then closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alys woke up feeling stifled, a weight across he
r body. Only half-conscious, she opened her eyes to see the room shrouded in a dim grey light. Convincing herself it was too early to rise, she tried to roll over and address herself to sleep again.
But something was blocking her movement. As she pushed, it shifted and sighed at her. “Kit! What are you still doing here?”
He stretched, rubbing fists in his sleepy eyes. Then realization struck. He was up in a single movement, vaulting over Alys’ body to rush to the window. When he pulled aside the drape, an unwelcome sight greeted her eyes. It was full, if gloomy, daylight outside.
Kit started scrabbling for his clothes at the same time as Alys leapt up and began climbing into hers. She struggled for breath, horrified of the consequences of them being caught together.
As she started doing up the laces of her bodice, Kit caught her eye. He’d pulled on his lower garments, and was just tucking in the tails of his shirt. He broke into a smile.
“Why are we panicking? Who do we expect to come up here? You said yourself, no one’s likely to miss you before noon. They’re probably all still abed anyway, after last night’s alarums and excursions. The sun is well below its zenith.”
“But the servants may be about.” How was she to get him out of here unseen?
He moved across to the window and looked out. “I can climb out. There’s a thick ivy stem just below your window, coming up from the scullery door. I should be able to descend without breaking my neck.”
“You could still be seen.” She didn’t want to end up with the same reputation as Kate, or she’d attract completely the wrong kind of husband. Nor did she want Kit to be questioned by the unsympathetic Kirlham—how long could he keep up his pretense of being a simple gardener under that glowering scrutiny?
“For the sake of your reputation, my good lady, I’ll ensure I am not seen. Anyway, we’re currently being blessed with a post-maelstrom drizzle, which is bound to keep people inside for the moment.”
Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2) Page 10