The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [26]
“Forgive me.” I bowed. “I did not intend to cause Your Grace any distress.”
“I’m far more concerned by the distress the duke has caused me.” She fixed the full force of her eyes on me. “You’re their servant. Do you know what he plans?”
I went still. Master Shelton’s words spilled in my mind: She’s poison. Poison to the core.
Even as I considered it, I knew I wouldn’t turn away, wouldn’t evade or flee her question, even though it might end up costing me everything. I’d reached that inevitable crossroads that comes in every man’s life—the crucial moment when, if we’re fortunate enough to recognize it, we can make a choice that will forever alter our fate. Elizabeth was the catalyst I’d sought without ever knowing it; poisonous or benign, she offered me the key to a new existence.
“I do not,” I replied. “If I did know, I would tell you. But I have eyes and ears; I saw what happened tonight, and I fear that whatever he plans, it will not bode well for Your Grace.”
She tilted her head. “You’ve an able tongue. But before you go any further, let me warn you, I’ve dealt with abler in my time. Be careful where you tread, squire.”
I did not flinch. “I state what I see. I learned early in life to look beyond the obvious.”
A faint smile creased her lips. “It seems we have something in common.” She paused again, and the silence restored that invisible divide between royal and commoner. “So, you have my attention. Tell me what you saw to make you think I may be in danger?”
I didn’t disregard the underlying threat in her voice. This was treacherous ground, not some fable in which I might play the knight. This was the court, where the sole coinage was power. She’d grown up among its quicksands, tasted its brine since she’d been old enough to learn the truth of her mother’s death. But whether she cared to admit it or not, she knew we were both now pawns in some Dudley game. It was the primary reason I couldn’t walk away; in truth, there was no walking away.
“I saw that you did not anticipate being denied His Majesty’s presence. You expected him to be in the hall to greet you, as he surely would have, were he truly on the mend from his illness. Now you are afraid, because you do not know how he is or what the duke has done.”
She was silent, so still she might have been a statue. Then she said, “You are indeed perceptive. Eyes such as yours could take you far. But if you can see so much, then God spare me from those with even keener sight, for it’s clear that travesty in the hall was meant as a warning that John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland now rules this realm.”
I fought the urge to look over my shoulder, half expecting to see the duke padding up to us, his black-robed council at his heels with warrants for our arrest.
“Does Robin know of your suspicions?” she asked.
I swallowed. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her what I suspected about Robert, and of the mysterious exchange between Lady Dudley, the duchess of Suffolk, and me. But all I had were, in fact, suspicions, and something instinctual kept me quiet. Whatever the Dudleys had planned for me was not her concern—not yet.
“Your Grace,” I said at length, “I do not know if Lord Robert can be trusted or not. But if you so command it, I will try to find out.”
Without warning, a burst of laughter broke from her lips, wild and uninhibited, and then it vanished as soon as it appeared. “I do believe you would