The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [81]
“I need you to do something for me. I need you to promise you’ll return to Hatfield.”
She bit her lip. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll remind you that Elizabeth still needs you. None of her servants have your skills, which she may require in the days to come. You know it as well as me. Just as you know, but haven’t yet said, that Cecil has an assignment for me. It’s why Walsingham has been coming and going, inquiring after my health. He’s not that solicitous.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered. She thumped the mattress with her fist. “Let them find someone else. You’ve risked enough. Not even Her Grace would ask more of you.”
“Yet I would do more. So would you. How can you not? You love her.”
“And you?” she asked, haltingly. “Do you … love her?”
I pulled her to me. “Only as my princess. She deserves that much, I think.”
Wrapped in my embrace, Kate murmured, “They say her mother was cursed. Sometimes I wonder if Elizabeth carries it in her blood. Robert Dudley threw himself at her feet; so did his father. Yet when she denied them, they turned on her like wolves. Can it be that the spell she weaves can just as easily turn men to hatred as it can to love?”
“For her sake, I pray not.” I let the moment pass. “Will you go?”
She sighed. “Not now.”
Chapter Twenty-two
When I awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. I was taken aback. Then I chuckled, passing a hand over my tousled hair. The trestle table had been dismantled, the stools set in a row against the wall. Folded in a pile by the bed were the clothes she’d brought me. Otherwise, it was as if Kate hadn’t been here at all.
I started to slide out of bed when the door opened. She appeared with towel, basin, and a small coffer—once again in her russet gown, her hair braided, neat as if she’d spent an uneventful night. I hugged her as she set the articles down, drowning out her feigned protest with my mouth. She clung to me for a moment before she pushed me away.
“Enough.” She went to retrieve a tray. “Walsingham is downstairs. He wants to see you as soon as you break your fast.”
“That’s what I was trying to do.” I reached out to grab her again.
She pranced away, elusive as dandelion seed. “You’ll have to content yourself with last night, for that’s all I plan to give until you put a roof over my head.” She tossed the towel at me.
I laughed. “This from the wanton who assured me she had all she wanted last night.”
“A woman can always change her mind. Now, behave yourself whilst I wash you.”
I affected a penitent stance, though it took concentration as she cleaned me from head to foot, lathering and rinsing without discrimination. Only when she undid my bandage to replace it did I wince. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“A bit.” I glanced at the wound. It was as ugly as I expected. “Corrupted?”
“It was. But you’re fortunate. The ball shredded and took a few layers of skin, nothing more.” From the coffer she extracted a jar and proceeded to swab green salve over my shoulder. I stood immobile. Like Mistress Alice, she was an herbalist.
“It’s a French recipe,” she explained, “rosemary, turpentine, and rose oil. It hastens healing.” With expert fingers she applied a fresh bandage, tucking it under my armpit. “It’ll have to suffice. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m assuming a few more days in bed are out of the question.”
I pecked the tip of her nose. “You know me too well.”
She helped me into my clothes—shirt, new leather jerkin, breeches, and a belt with a pouch. I was surprised when she produced soft kid boots in almost my exact size.
“Peregrine bought them at the local market. He got himself a cap and cloak, as well. He says he’s going to be your manservant once you get rich.”
“He’s got a long wait.” I turned about. “Presentable?”
“A prince.” She served me bread and cheese and dark ale, which we consumed in companionable silence, though I could sense her anxiety.
“Is it bad news?” I finally said.