Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  No sooner had she come to this decision, than the front door slammed shut and she heard a jingle of spurs in the hall. It must be Kit, returned from his expedition to Ipswich where he’d gone, so he said, to take delivery of some items he’d had sent up from London.

  She hurried down to meet him, then paused at the foot of the stairs.

  This was Kit as she had never seen him before, cutting a splendid figure in slashed green velvet, his hair neatly trimmed and just brushing the edge of his ruff. The stubbly beard she’d grown used to was gone, revealing more of his elegantly sculpted jaw and tempting lips.

  He spread out his arms, grinning. “Am I not to receive a kiss from the damsel in distress I rescued last week?”

  She made no move. How easy it would be to walk into that embrace, to be enfolded in the comfort and safety of those two strong arms—but how long would it be before her heart began pumping in excitement and anticipation? Before an innocent kiss ignited a flame neither of them could put out?

  She had promised herself to keep him at arm’s length until she’d resolved matters with Kate. If he cared for her, he would understand and be patient.

  He stepped closer, but she moved away from him. “No, Kit, this is not the time.”

  “Not the time? This is precisely the time, Madam, when we both know where we stand, and there need be no more deceit between us. And there’s nobody about.” His lip drooped. “Unless it is that you don’t like what you see, and prefer me in my gardener’s garb.”

  “It’s not that.” She might as well be blunt, get it over with quickly. “You’ve deceived me before—how can I trust you now?” She couldn’t rely on him, throw all she had into his power. The only person she should rely on was herself.

  His enthusiasm was barely dented. “Surely, you cannot wish to tax me with that now? You know my reasons for deceiving you, and were they not the very noblest? Come, be not so cold, sweeting. The worst is over, and we are now at leisure to rejoice.”

  He touched her arm, the heat of his hand infusing her entire body. It was no easy thing to deny a man as lusty and determined as Kit, but for the good of her soul, she knew she must try.

  She took a deep breath. “Nay, Kit, Sir Christopher, or whatever you wish to be called, now is not the time. It would be improper.”

  Shock flashed in his eyes. Then he made a deliberate show of gazing down at his body. “I have never appeared before you in such proper garb as I am wearing now. In the garden, after you threw my clothes in the pond, that was improper. But I declare there cannot be a single piece of my flesh exposed that could affront you now.”

  As if she’d ever get that image out of her mind. It was scorched into her memory like a brand. “Don’t jest, Kit, I beg you. How can I indulge your whims when I know my closest living relation is in peril of her life?”

  “Whims?” The shock intensified. He paced rapidly across the room and stared through the window to the yew walk beyond. When he finally turned to face her again, his smile had vanished.

  “You certainly know how to wound, Alys Barchard, but I forgive you—your life has been thrown into turmoil. May I remind you that your closest living relation, as you call her, abandoned you to the whims of Richard Avery. Who was ready to ravish and then murder you, if I’m not mistaken. Aye, Kate Aspinall is, indeed, in peril. Quite deservedly so. Think of how many others would have been harmed had her scheme succeeded! Both you and I have tasted of her malice, and you know well she had no compunction about destroying the lives of the queen and doubtless many of her ministers withal. So why should you care? You have done what is right and helped preserve the life of one of the greatest sovereigns this country has ever seen. You should be glad.”

  His face softened as he returned to her, pulling her gently against his chest. “Whims indeed. How innocent you are, my little dove.”

  She struggled. “This isn’t right. Let me go!”

  “Come, my princess.” His warm breath stirred her hair. “You must put the past behind you. Our paths lie together now, and I shall never leave you alone again. How I let you persuade me to desert you when I went for help, I cannot imagine. Only think of my feelings when I saw you in the clutches of that vile Avery! Many times since have I chastised myself for my foolishness. Folly is something I swear to avoid, lest it frustrate you when we are wed.”

  Her pulse raced. When they were wed? He was speaking of marriage? She felt her face grow hot and gulped down a few deep breaths. “I’m not amused by your jest.”

  He held her away from him. “What jest?”

  “You mentioned marriage.”

  “Of course.” He spoke slowly, softly, as one might to a child. “Surely, you must have expected it?”

  “But… but we hardly know each other.” That was the least of her objections, but she didn’t want a battle.

  He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. “In what ways do we not know each other? You have opened your mind and your heart to me, and know more of me than many others can boast.”

  He couldn’t be serious. Neither could she consider marriage at such a time, when her family name was to be stigmatized, her nearest living relative due to become crow’s meat and she herself not certain of the future. The answer would have to be “no”.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kit read the anguish in Alys’ face and decided to ease her pain with distraction. His own need was so desperate he could barely contain it—the horror of the past week had left him with a huge thirst for life. Only taking Alys to wife, and into his bed, would assuage that thirst. He pulled her into his arms again, kissing her on the temple and nibbling at her ear. She groaned in response, and he sensed her resolve weaken.

  “Touch me not. I feel unclean after Avery’s handling, and my heart is too full of care to feel desire.”

  He knew from her body’s response this was untrue. She’d looked so serious, so tired, when he’d walked in, he’d vowed to do whatever it took to bring the smile back to her tempting mouth, the color back to those lily-white cheeks. He drew her close, one hand beginning a slow circuit of her breast, as he put his lips to her ear.

  “I am here to make you forget all that. I make you the offer of my lands, my wealth, my body and soul. I cannot fight against Nature, and She has decreed we belong together.”

  She moaned softly but pushed at his hand, turning her head away. But he’d seen the flush in her cheeks, the darkening desire in her eyes. This was a woman ripe for awakening, eager to be schooled in the ways of love.

  “I w… wish you would g… go now. You are too hot, sir. I have troubles that are nearer to my heart.”

  “Nearer to your heart than I am? I shall try not to be wounded by that remark. I trust it means I should wait—I will if I must. Only let me steal a little kiss now, to seal the bargain we have made.”

  “We have made no bargain.” She disentangled herself from his embrace. “You can have no understanding of how I feel.”

  He clearly had a lot to prove to her. The barbs were coming faster now—was true love always as painful as this? He swept her up into his arms and stomped through to the parlor where he settled himself in a chair, cradling her in his lap. “Then tell me how you feel, my love, and I will try to understand.”

  She made no effort to escape. Balm to his shattered feelings.

  “How may I rest easy in the marriage bed, knowing my cousin has naught but the grave to look forward to?”

  He touched her hair with his lips. “I hadn’t envisaged much rest in our marriage bed.”

  “You make sport of me again! I thought you were prepared to listen to me, to attempt to understand.”

  A pox on it. Taking her onto his lap had been a mistake. “Truly, I cannot help but be light of heart and soul—my time of banishment is at an end. I’m impatient to have you away to court with me, where I may show you off, and rouse the envy of my friends. My present duty to my queen is now done, and it’s time to claim my reward. Such a reward such as I never dreamed
of! Mistress Alys Barchard, a lady with wisdom, courage and conversation, a woman sweet and tender, yet with an inner fire of which I cannot wait to partake.”

  His thumb caressed the exposed flesh above the neckline of her bodice, and he felt her tremble.

  But all she said was, “I cannot think of wedlock while my cousin is still in this world—that would be a dire insult. I must do what I can to ease her passing and my conscience. And I fear for the safety of court.”

  His exploring hand stilled. “How so?”

  “That conspirator you mentioned, the one close to the queen.”

  “Then we must do what we can to unmask him. I shall become a spy again but on familiar territory this time. Even less suspicion will fall on me as a married man than a single one.”

  “You want me to come to court?” He read concern in the blue-grey eyes.

  “Of course. I must have my wife with me. Would you have me leave you to rot away in the country? But if you wish it, we shall both submerge ourselves in the rural idyll. I am yours to command.”

  She blinked at him. He gazed down at her, praying she could read his heart. She could have no idea what a sacrifice it would be for him to leave the hustle and bustle of court. But he’d do it. For her. Bending his head, he nuzzled at her neck, his hand skimming over her breasts.

  “At court, I will no doubt meet your previous conquest, that lady for whose sake you were put to work with Walsingham and exiled to Suffolk.”

  His hand stopped moving, and his breath caught. Yet another barb. But he’d always known this was something he’d have to face. It would have been a boon if it could have been delayed, however. Ye gods, how he hated Anne Lacey.

  “You may. I know not if she is there.”

  “Am I to know the name of the damsel you dishonored?”

  He had done nothing of the kind, only no one believed a man with his reputation. He had hoped Alys would see only the man he was now. “That is not important. I don’t wish to speak of something that still gives me pain.”

  “I should think the pain was mostly the lady’s. It is her name that will be forever sullied, not yours.”

  Now Alys was deliberately trying to hurt him. It was beneath her. Sighing deeply, he lifted her to her feet and walked to the window. “I will tell you about it, yes—but I don’t choose to speak of it at this time. The memory follows me like a shadow. My recent successes have banished that shadow, and I believe I have been sufficiently punished. It feels as if you wish to punish me more.”

  “There should be no secrets between a husband and a wife.”

  He grazed his fist against the stone mullion of the window, then flexed his fingers on the sill. “I did not say it was a secret. I simply hoped you’d trust me, and be prepared to wait until I’m ready to speak.”

  Fire sparked in her eyes. “I must wait for you to be ready, yet you will not wait for me? You won’t give me time to bury my dead, and reconstruct a life you undermined?”

  “My plan was to help you reconstruct that life—to offer the protection of my name to you in the aftermath of the trials and executions. I see my words have fallen on stony ground.”

  Hurt fueled his anger. He strode towards her, took her by the elbows and glared down at her, but saw only stubbornness in her face. This was too much—he couldn’t bear her coldness.

  “Where there can be no trust, there can be no love. Where there can be no love, there can be no marriage. I bid you good day.”

  He stalked out of the room and left the house, feeling as if he’d been struck in the heart with a knife. As he marched into the stables, wondering what to do next, he realized walking out was the worst thing he could have done.

  But to return now and take back his words, spoken in bitterness, would make him look weak. And he couldn’t abide having Alys think that.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The following week was a grim one for Alys. Kit had taken up residence in the village, and Rupert had taken his place as her protector. But despite his cheerful concern for her, he was no substitute for Kit. She wandered the manor house from room to room, tidying needlessly, struggling far too often with threatening tears. Kit had made her an offer that should have made her heart glad, yet she’d found fault with it, and they’d quarreled. Had she, in her loyalty and pride, scotched the only chance of happiness she might ever have?

  Then Kit brought a message that they had both been called to court and that Rupert was to accompany them. Elizabeth, he explained, was currently residing at Hatfield Palace, where she’d spent much of her youth. There, she had received the news of her predecessor Mary’s death, and though she had visited the palace but rarely since then, apparently it still held a special place in her heart.

  Alys tried hard not to panic. Queen Elizabeth was now in her fifty-third year and the twenty-eighth year of her reign. She had a fearsome reputation—grown men had been known to tremble before her displeasure. Like her father before her, her temper was said to be as hot as her flaming hair, although she was known to be gracious and generous to her loyal subjects. It was to be hoped the queen would be kind to the innocent, and cruel only to her enemies.

  Would Alys dare ask her for leniency towards Kate? The idea of her cousin being publicly hanged or burned for treason made her flesh creep.

  These uncomfortable thoughts were to be her principal companions the following day, as she began the next chapter of her life. She and Lettice, with their few possessions, none of which were grand enough for court, were loaded into a small, unsprung coach and, together, they bounced uncomfortably south towards Hertfordshire.

  Kit had chosen to make the journey on horseback—and rode ahead, so she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of him. If only there were some way of knowing he cared more for her than for his mission, that he hadn’t just tricked her into falling in love with him so she’d help him unmask the conspiracy.

  She sighed deeply, but before the melancholy thoughts could overwhelm her, Rupert brought his mount up close and called through the window, “We are now approaching Hatfield, Mistress. Would you like us to slow down so you can look?”

  Nodding her assent, she pushed her head out of the carriage window. And gasped.

  Laid out before her was a huge, red-brick building with smart gardens, and numerous stables and outbuildings. The outlying meadows were currently strewn with tents—to accommodate the court—and makeshift shelters and stabling for the horses and oxen which transported the queen’s household from place to place.

  As Alys’ coach trundled into an inner courtyard, the noise hit her ears like a living being. Horses clattered in and out, goods were being loaded onto barrows, and shouting servants bustled to and fro. Elevated above the chaos, she spied colorful pennants fluttering from the tiled roof. It was like market day in Cheyneham—only richer and much more intimidating.

  She smoothed her hair back and pinched her cheeks. Suddenly, her apparel seemed very rustic. Was there any hope that Lettice would be able to transform her mistress into a courtier? “Would that Kate and I had been of a size,” she whispered to herself. “For even the servants here have better apparel than I.”

  When Rupert helped her down, she was stiff and bone-weary she felt. It took considerable effort to straighten her back and hold her head high as a host of liveried servants took charge of the horses and baggage. As she followed him towards a stone-edged doorway beneath one of the towers, she sensed she was being watched. A brief glance revealed a round-faced gentleman wearing a high felt hat. Surely she knew that face? But wait, he was standing next to Kit. Heaven forbid he should think she was staring at him! She ducked her head and moved rapidly away.

  But as soon as she and Lettice had been shown to their chamber, she chased to the window to stare down at Kit, her pulse skittering. The familiar gentleman had gone, but now a young woman had appeared, sweeping up to him with a great billowing of her ornamented skirt. There was no doubt she was of wealthy stock—the jewels adorning her gown, and the chains and ne
cklaces about her throat, and resting on her barely-covered bosom, proclaimed it. Something about the way the girl moved suggested she had a close familiarity with Kit.

  Could this be she? The one for whose sake Kit had been exiled? Surely not, for if he had shamed her, she would not now be leaning on his arm, and gazing winningly up into his face. And if it was not that woman, only one explanation remained—Kit had more than one paramour at court. Mayhap this was the reason he’d avoided her company on the journey to Hatfield—he had a great deal too much to hide. Well, she would do her best to avoid him from now on, so she wouldn’t have to cope with the searing pain that stabbed at her heart.

  As she turned miserably away from the window, there was a scratching at the door.

  Lettice abandoned her efforts to smooth out Alys’ crumpled clothing and admitted a young boy in livery bearing a tray of bread, meat and wine. His voice must be on the edge of breaking, for he croaked at them when he spoke. “The compliments of the steward, my lady, and apologies that you have not a better view, but there were few rooms left to choose from.”

  Alys smiled encouragingly and was rewarded by a hearty blush. “But… but you may still see a little of the gardens from here, and the roses are very fine.”

  “Indeed, I have spied them already.” She tilted her head and waited.

  “Oh, Jason, my lady. Just call my name if you need me.” He removed his hat with a flourish.

  “Aye, Jason. The rose trellises remind me of my home.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The boy backed out of the room.

  Oh, such luxury, to be waited upon hand-and-foot, and not to have to worry about the expense. She signaled Lettice to join her, relishing some company at the table, but barely had they finished eating than someone else scratched at the door. Alys leapt up to open it, expecting Jason come to clear away their platters, then froze in surprise to see a woman, of a similar age to herself, dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen, waiting outside.