In a Treacherous Court

by Michelle Diener

  “How sensible.” Parker lifted Susanna onto the horse; as she swung her leg over the saddle, he saw a quick movement in the shadows on Ludgate Hill. Pretending to tighten the saddle, he flicked a glance to the other side of the street. Yes, one on each side. Directly on their path home.

  “I need to know,” he said to Simon as he adjusted the stirrups for Susanna’s shorter legs, “did you bring any friends with you?”

  Simon’s eyes widened but he didn’t so much as look up at the street. “No.”

  “Then it seems there are some not quite as sensible as you.”

  Susanna frowned. There was something wrong. Parker was clearly shortening the stirrups for her, as if he meant her to ride alone, and she caught the ghost of a whisper between him and Simon. The way his face hardened, the intensity of his eyes, was like yesterday in Bryan’s rooms when the door had slammed open. He was getting ready to fight. She looked down, and as if on cue, his left arm flicked and his knife dropped into his palm.

  There was something very disturbing about how attuned she was to him. She had not thought of a lover and partner, a man she could share with. She had thought only of someone she could walk away from when the time came. When he could no longer accept her long days and longer nights working at her craft.

  That would be impossible for her now. There would be no getting out of this without a broken heart. She pushed the desolation somewhere deep inside.

  “Where are they?” she asked, and saw him jerk in surprise.

  “Just up ahead, on either side of the road.” He spoke quietly, as if murmuring to the horse. “Come,” he said aloud. “Let us get home.” He began leading the horse forward, sticking to the right flank.

  “Do you think they will attack, now there are two of us?” Simon took the left side. “And is it wise to take Mistress Horenbout into the fray?”

  “I would rather she be anywhere but here, but if there are two up ahead, there could be more behind us.”

  “True enough.” Simon patted the horse and looked up at her. “Quite like old times, eh?”

  Susanna shuddered. “I hope not.” But it was clear Simon and Parker did not share her feelings. Anticipation swirled in them even as they kept their strides and their faces steady.

  “Ride ahead when we engage,” Parker told her. “Not too far; I want to see where you are. But ride out of their reach.”

  She nodded, hoping she could. She wasn’t used to riding a horse, but this was a placid gelding, a steady cart horse. Her worry was for watching and not being able to help.

  The shadows stirred on either side of the street, and two figures detached themselves like dark wraiths.

  “Here we go.” Simon’s voice was a mix of tension and excitement as he leaped to meet the man springing from the shadows.

  Parker’s sword was out so fast, it seemed to Susanna it simply appeared in his hand. He gave no shout as he stepped forward to meet the attacker who sprang at him. They met with a grunt and the hiss of steel, up close to each other.

  As they broke away and lifted their swords for the next blow, she suddenly realized she needed to move. She urged the horse forward, the sinister ring of steel enough to force him into a trot.

  She turned him around a little way up the hill, her heart thundering in her chest, and saw Parker and Simon fighting back to back.

  A candle flared in a room above the road, and a man in a white nightshirt stuck his torso out. “What in heaven’s name is going on down there?”

  His shout acted like a cock’s crow. More lights flickered to life behind more windows, and Susanna saw the attackers step out of Parker’s and Simon’s reach. They turned up the hill and began to run—straight for her.

  She leaned forward on the saddle. “Come on, boy.” Digging her knees into his sides and flicking the reins, she forced the horse forward, but he wouldn’t go faster than a walk.

  “Susanna!” Parker’s shout was fierce as he chased down their assailants, and hearing him so close on their heels startled them. One stumbled in his panic just abreast of her and scooped something off the ground, then threw it straight at her.

  She cried out, her arm lifting a second too late as cold, wet snow came hurling at her.

  She blinked it out of her eyes and wiped it off her face as Parker reached her.

  “Just snow?” His eyes searched her face.

  She nodded. “Just snow.” She shivered.

  His hand came up and his fingers curled around her neck, then he tugged her down to kiss her forehead.

  “Notice how they ran when the lights started coming on?” Simon had reached them, and she saw his surprise at their intimate embrace. He carefully blanked it away as Parker’s hand slid from her neck and gripped her ankle protectively. And did not let go.

  “You think they were afraid we would recognize them? I could only see the eyes of my attacker; his face was covered against the cold.”

  “Yes,” Simon said. “But there is more than one way to recognize a man.”

  “Who was it?” Parker’s nostril’s flared, eager as a wolf with a fresh scent.

  “Tom Fielder.” Simon smiled with dark satisfaction. “He didn’t expect me here, or he would not have worn the coat he won off me at one-and-thirty last week.”

  “I can see why he would not wish to be recognized.” Parker blew out a cloudy breath in amazement. “This game becomes truly dangerous.”

  Susanna couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “You think it only now becomes dangerous?”

  “However dangerous it was, that danger has just doubled.” Simon’s words were hushed, and he and Parker stood looking up the hill in the direction the attackers had run.

  “Who is Tom Fielder, then?” Susanna asked. Whoever he was, he had given Simon a well-matched fight.

  “He is a protégé of the Lord High Treasurer. He holds a high position at court.” Simon rubbed his arms.

  “I trained the bastard myself.” Parker’s fists were curled tight. “Keep that ring safe on you, and not far from either Mistress Horenbout or myself. It seems we will need it.”

  22

  The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: To have the feate of drawing and peincting.

  Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To be learned.

  Simon hefted the saddle pack onto the horse, then crouched to adjust the straps.

  “Beware of Pettigrew,” Parker said, recalling Susanna’s outrage when they had worked out the physician’s role. Thinking of the hours she’d sat alone with him in the captain’s cabin awaiting Parker’s arrival, he realized the only thing that had kept her alive was Pettigrew’s need to maintain his cover. He would have been the only suspect had she come to harm. “Don’t be fooled by his age and countenance. He must be cold as stone to have done what he did without betraying himself.”

  Simon nodded, straightened up. “At least I know my enemy, which is more than you.”

  The way he said it made Parker’s gaze sharpen on his face. “What do you mean?”

  Simon cast a quick glance at the barn door, and Parker knew he was making sure Susanna was still in the house. He waited a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just take care.”

  “You think Susanna is a danger to me?”

  “I only know you are not yourself. And it occurs to me, she had just as much opportunity in this as Pettigrew. More. Everything she has told you may be a lie.”

  Parker clenched his fists. “Your theory would hold, had it been Susanna who gave me most of the information, but that is not the case. And she has had not a moment to conspire with anyone since leaving that ship. I have been at her side constantly.”

  Simon turned to face him. “Forgive me. But before, you would have considered the possibility of her guilt. You would not have dismissed it out of hand. I say again, you are not yourself.”

  “How am I not myself?” Parker spoke each word slowly.

  “After the fight just now. You went to her, kis
sed her. In the street.” Simon shook his head as if he never thought to see such a thing.

  Parker remembered the way his heart had pounded when he saw the two ruffians running straight for her, when he saw her face them and move the horse right at them. “When the one scooped something up and threw it …” He had to repress a shudder. “I thought it a rock.”

  “I thought it a rock myself,” Simon conceded.

  “If she were in league with these forces, would they be trying to kill her? Gripper told me himself she was the main target—I was just an extra bonus.” Parker grimaced.

  “You are thinking with your … heart, Parker. Not your brain.”

  “That is where you are wrong.” Parker kept his gaze on Simon’s face. “I have lived by my wits since my father died. And they have served me well. Every instinct tells me Susanna Horenbout is a treasure I should not let out of my grasp.”

  Simon gave a rueful smile. “In truth, I hope you are right. I like her well. But how will you keep her, Parker? You need permission from the King to marry.”

  Parker scowled. “Aye. And when this is done, I think he will concede I have more than earned the right to my own choice in a wife.”

  Simon looked away. Parker knew well what he was too polite to voice: that the King was a fickle and volatile man. He could deny on a whim, with no reason.

  “You are wrong about another thing.” Parker took the reins and began to lead Gawain from the stable. “I am more myself than I have ever been.”

  “You will need to be.” Simon slipped his foot into a stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “If Tom Fielder is involved, it can only mean we are dealing with the head of the most noble family in England, bar the King.”

  You saw Norfolk, yesterday on the steps.” Parker ground down azurite using a mortar and pestle for Susanna while she sat at his desk, finishing the designs on the King’s writs. He had felt the strength in her wrists, the tone of her arms, as she’d rolled with him in her bed last night. Now he knew how she came by her power.

  “The first man?” she asked, looking up. “The one who almost approached the coach?”

  He nodded, and saw she shivered. “You did not care for his looks?”

  “No. He looked cruel and self-serving.”

  “Norfolk is those and more.” He tapped his lips. “Gripper told me that whoever was behind the attacks hated me personally. Offered a bonus for anyone who could kill me, as well as you. Norfolk should have sprung immediately to mind.”

  “He hates you?”

  “Despises me. Loathes me. I’m one of the King’s new men. I’m not a nobleman, yet I hold posts he thinks only a nobleman should hold. He would spit on me rather than talk to me. But as the Lord High Treasurer, he is forced to deal with me. As the Keeper of the Palace of Westminster, I keep the King’s personal accounts. And the King trusts me.” His relationship with Norfolk was cold and bitter, based on mutual contempt and acrimony. But he found no joy in the prospect of bringing Norfolk down.

  “Why would he take such a risk? If the King suspects, surely he is as good as dead?”

  Parker leaned back from his work, and realized there was a thin film of sweat on his brow from his efforts. “The King will behead him without mercy. But Norfolk’s method in this is pure genius. Trapping courtiers with letters from de la Pole, isolating them, and then setting them up for the King to think they are the threat against him.” He shook his head in admiration. “It’s bold. Powerful. I had no idea Norfolk had it in him.”

  “And we stand in his way.” Susanna’s voice was clear and quiet.

  “Aye. He cannot risk the King learning courtiers like Bryan are dupes, not traitors. His plans rest on the King suspecting everyone.”

  Parker picked up the pestle and began to grind again, pressing down and twisting as hard as he could. “He knows if the King sees shadows everywhere, the confusion will be incredible. And I have no doubt he’s been careful to have nothing to do with those he has led out like goats to slaughter.”

  “But what of de la Pole?” Susanna set down her quill. “No matter whether Norfolk succeeds or not, surely de la Pole is coming with an army? Else why would Norfolk take the risk?”

  Parker nodded slowly. “And we have no proof of that, no proof Norfolk is even involved, other than Tom Fielder attacking us. It is a strong reason to suspect, but by no means conclusive.”

  “We could let the courtiers dangle in the noose of their own making, and see if Norfolk betrays himself.”

  Parker looked up sharply, and saw that her face was set. She was thinking of Boleyn, he realized. Given Boleyn’s relationship with the King, she was most likely right. He’d bet gold Boleyn also had a letter from de la Pole on his conscience.

  It was a tempting plan.

  “We don’t know how widespread this is,” he said, and tipped the fine-ground blue powder from the mortar into a leather holder Susanna had given him. “Much though I’d love Boleyn to lose his head over this, there may be many caught in this trap. Would you have ten, twenty suffer to get at Boleyn?”

  Her face was pensive, and there was no immediate denial on her lips. “If they were in that room last night when Boleyn dragged me out, I would feel little sympathy for them.”

  He grinned. “I will never cross you, my lady. You are too fierce.”

  She smiled back. Reluctantly at first, but he saw when her heart caught up with her lips. “It is poorly done of me?”

  He shook his head. “You were attacked and insulted. You have the right to ill feeling. We could let the greedy bastards fall, but will it be the best course?”

  “The King is my benefactor. If he prospers, I prosper. What is best for him?”

  Shock straightened his spine. She spoke like a man. Like him. And why not? She was employed by the King. Parker wanted to say she had no need to worry about her own prosperity, that he would see to it himself. But without the King, everything that was his could be taken.

  She had never said what she wanted from him. She had told him she would make a bad wife. She had been honest in her reasons for trying to seduce her blacksmith. But Parker wasn’t her blacksmith. And he didn’t think either of them wanted a mere dalliance.

  Later. All this could be decided later. He took a deep breath.

  “The sooner we bring this madness to an end, the better. Waiting will only give Norfolk more time to wreak his havoc.”

  She nodded, stood, and shook out her shoulders. She had finished the intricate designs along the tops of the writs and had designed the complex-patterned first letters.

  “Will it take you long to paint these?” he asked.

  She looked at the pots of ground pigment he had made for her and smiled. “You have done well, apprentice. It will not take me long to finish.”

  “But it must dry before you can return it to the King?” He stepped closer and drew her into his arms.

  Her lips curved with sudden understanding, and he stared, fascinated, at her mouth. “It will take several hours to dry, even in a nice warm room like this.”

  “Then paint quickly. I have an idea how to pass the drying time.” He couldn’t smile, couldn’t make it lighthearted. He needed her more than he needed food or drink.

  She gazed into his eyes, serious, delightful. “Should we not be doing—”

  He cut off her words with a kiss. “Our enemies are all around. We take each moment as our last.”

  23

  The Chiefe Conditions and Qualities in a Courtier: To endevour himself to love, please and obey his Prince in honestye.

  Of the Chief Conditions and Qualityes in a Waytyng Gentylwoman: To have a sweetenesse in language and a good uttrance to entertein all kinde of men with communication woorth the hearing, honest, applyed to time and place and to the degree and disposition of the person which is her principall profession.

  The view from the royal apartments at Greenwich over the Thames was spectacular. Parker saw the five-story keep in which he stood reflected in the water, blurred
at the edges, the red brick façade bright against the gray cloud backdrop. The keep began to wobble at the top as a boat cut across the castellations.

  He waited, apart, as the King looked over Susanna’s work, delighted as a child with the designs and colors. He didn’t know another man who threw himself into the moment as much as his sovereign. Still and watchful much of the time, he could enter into play with the abandon of a lion cub. But when necessary, when threatened or merely annoyed, he could kill without compunction or conscience.

  “I am loath now to send these writs out, they are so excellent.” As the King spoke, the reflection in the river dimmed, and Parker looked up to see some of the sunlight had been cut off by the thickening clouds.

  They were not alone with the King today. His secretary was busy at a desk, and a few members of the privy chamber were quietly discussing their business. There would be no chance to talk to him privately until later.

  “Parker.”

  Parker turned to see Norfolk at the door. He tamped down hard on every emotion surging through him and bent in a shallow bow. He did not answer or make any move to join Norfolk.

  He had often thought that if the Grim Reaper had a face, it would be Norfolk’s. His eyes were like smooth onyx in a face that showed cruelty and power in every line. His nose dominated it like the beak of a vulture.

  He had a mind as twisted and brutal as the thugs on the docks, the only difference between him and them was the veneer and gilding of wealth and ancient lineage.

  Norfolk had often said with contempt that the King could make noblemen, but he could not make gentlemen. The irony of his statement had never been lost on Parker.

  As Norfolk was forced to make his way across the room to him, Parker realized he even moved like a thug, flicking his eyes around the room for any threat as he stalked forward, his fists clenched and ready.