The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [87]
His eyes were wide. It sounded as if an infantry were upon us, yet when I looked out, I saw only a small company of horsemen, their lathered mounts flinging up clumps of dirt. Dark cloaks billowed about the riders. They had no torches, but as they galloped past, the leader glanced at the bushes where we lurked. Under his unadorned black cap, I recognized him.
My heart leapt into my throat. I half expected him to yell a halt and turn on us. When the contingent continued down the road, I sagged onto my haunches. “That was Lord Robert.”
Peregrine stared. “The Lord Robert?”
“The same.” I sprang to my feet. “Come!”
We raced to the woods. Cinnabar and Peregrine’s mount (which had the odd name of Deacon) snorted as we leapt onto the saddles and yanked them about. “We’ll ride parallel with the road,” I said. “Hopefully we can find a quicker route.”
The night was lifting. Though still a few hours away, dawn approached. Cantering at the forest edge, using the trees as camouflage, evading or jumping fallen trunks that could snap a horse’s leg, I was grateful for the scarce moon. I couldn’t see very far ahead, which was unfortunate, but it also meant Lord Robert and his men might not see us. I knew that if we were spotted we’d be hard pressed to make an escape.
How had Robert caught the scent so fast? We had expected the duke to send him after Mary, but her manor was miles from here. Somehow Robert had discovered she was on her way north and had determined to run her to ground, employing the same ruthless purpose he’d shown in pursuit of Elizabeth. Only this time he carried a warrant, not a ring.
Peregrine broke into my thoughts. “They’re stopping.”
I slowed Cinnabar, straining my eyes to a fork in the road. “Go farther,” I said, “and wait there. If something should happen, don’t be a hero. Ride back to Hatfield. I mean it.”
I picked my way toward the group. Cinnabar had a light step, but even that couldn’t stop the occasional crack of twigs underfoot or jiggle of harness. At every sound, no matter how subtle, I cringed. I’d hunted with the Dudleys in our youth, before the cruelty of the sport turned my stomach. I had seen the delight Robert took in tracking prey. How much more would he enjoy hunting the squire who had betrayed his trust?
But no one heard me, probably because they were too engrossed in their own vociferous debate. Sliding from my saddle, I continued on foot, drawing close enough to overhear but not so close that I wouldn’t have a fighting chance if I were seen.
I counted nine; among the clash of voices Robert’s was the loudest.
“Because I say so! God’s teeth, am I not the leader here? Is it not my head that stands to roll if we fail to capture that papist witch?”
“Begging your pardon,” retorted a gruff voice, “but we all stand to lose here, my lord. None of us wants to see a Catholic queen set the Inquisition over us, which is why we shouldn’t have left our soldiers behind to wait for us. What if she has more retainers than we think?”
Robert scoffed. “You heard her steward at Hoddesdon. At the most, she travels with six: her treasurer, secretary, chamberlain, and three matrons. We don’t need a host of soldiers to catch her. They’ll only slow us down.”
I had to smile. Out in the middle of a road, in the middle of nowhere, and still they trembled in their boots over what one embattled spinster might achieve. It was good to hear that, like her younger sister, Mary Tudor had a reputation.
Then my entire being went cold as I heard a voice drawl, “Perhaps we should come to an agreement, gentlemen, before she sets sail for Flanders and returns with an imperial army at her back. We’ll need more than soldiers then, I can assure you.”
Stokes. He was here, among Robert’s men.
Robert conceded. “Yes, we can’t afford to waste more time. She fled Hoddesdon and has been riding nonstop. All the signs indicate she’s on her way to Yarmouth. She has to take refuge somewhere, if only to rest her horses. Most likely she’ll seek out a sympathizer. I ask you, how hard can it be to track down one