The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [63]
She lifted her chin. “Should that come to pass, then I’ll be grateful for a familiar face.”
Robert bowed furiously and stormed back down the steps toward the palace. The night swallowed him. The moment he was gone, Elizabeth swayed. Kate hurried to her.
“God help me,” I heard her whisper. “What have I done?”
“What you had to,” Kate said. “What Your Grace’s dignity required.”
Elizabeth stared at her. A quivering laugh escaped her. “Squire Prescott!”
I rose, brushing dead leaves from my damp breeches as I came before her. In her eyes I glimpsed an anguish she’d never admit to. “You told me I was in danger of my life. It seems you were right. What shall we do now?”
“Leave, Your Grace,” I said, “before Lord Robert confesses to his father. Once he does, they will have to take you. You already know too much.”
“Strange,” she replied, as Kate removed her cloak from the balustrade and draped it about her thin shoulders. “It seems you do not know him as much as you should, for boys that were raised together. Robert will never go to his father with this. I’ve hurt him in the one place he’ll not forgive or forget, but he’ll not seek revenge through the duke. No, he hates Northumberland now even more than me. He may do as he’s bid and take Mary down like a prize doe, for his pride of manhood demands it, but he’ll never set his father’s hounds on me willingly.”
“Whatever the case, we can’t wait to find out.” I turned to Kate. A lesser woman might have flinched at the tone in my voice. “Any instructions from Cecil we should know about?”
She met my stare. “I am to take Her Grace through the postern gate. There is transport waiting for us on the road. But, you aren’t supposed to be here.”
Elizabeth said, “I am overwhelmed by the concern, and the effort expended on my behalf, but I’ve no desire to leave my Arabian, Cantila, here for the duke’s use. He’s too valuable a friend.” Her lips curled. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you had friends nearby?”
In answer to her query, Peregrine bounded up out of hiding. “I’ll fetch Your Grace’s horse!” Behind him Barnaby offered stiff genuflection, shreds of leaves in his hair. “My lady,” he said with the warmth of years of familiarity.
“Barnaby Fitzpatrick,” she breathed, “I am glad of you.” She leaned to Peregrine with a wry smile. “Don’t you work in the stables at Whitehall? Where is my dog?”
Peregrine gazed at her in unabashed adoration. “Urian is safe. He is here, stabled with Cantila. I’ll fetch him, too, if you like. Anything you need. It would be my honor.”
“He means it,” I added. I glanced at Peregrine. “My horse Cinnabar is also here, my friend, in case you’d forgotten. And my saddlebag is under the straw.”
Peregrine nodded, flustered. Elizabeth said briskly, “Then it’s settled. Our friend here will fetch my dog and the horses, and meet us at the gate. I’ve a friend of my own outside Greenwich, where we can seek refuge lest the duke sends troops after us. I don’t think it wise to return to Hatfield quite yet.” She paused. A chill went through me as I saw her tense. Even though I anticipated her words, they still took me off guard.
“But before we go anywhere, I must see Edward.”
Chapter Eighteen
A deafening hush followed her declaration. I marveled that I should feel any shock; it wasn’t as if she behaved in an unexpected fashion. I also wondered why I tried to convince her otherwise, even as I said: “That’s impossible. We can’t get inside. And even if we could, His Majesty’s rooms are too well guarded. We’ll never get out again.”
Elizabeth regarded me stonily. “Perhaps before