Authors: Laura Andersen
The Virgin's Spy (22 page)
Only when Liadan passed him did Stephen see the fine tremble beneath her skin. He expected her to reach for her mother upon release, but it was Maisie who put her arm around Liadan's shoulder and murmured soft words to her as they walked away.
“Well?” Ailis asked him.
With a glance at Diarmid, hovering menacingly, Stephen said, “Let's walk.”
They had not been wholly alone since Dane's arrival. His body, finely honed to every move and glimpse of her, urged him to sweep her into a quiet chamber and on into his arms.
But it was his mind that would keep him alive. And keep Ailis from a catastrophic mistake.
“There's no blood on your dagger, so I presume he minded his tongue with Liadan,” she said.
“As well as he's able. Liadan was impressive. She has all your sense of self. I think it startled him.”
“Good.”
Stephen put his hand lightly on her arm, and she stopped. They were in an empty corridor, no one else to be heard or seen. “Ailis,” he said softly, “you have to let him go. Hurt him as much as you like. Hell, I'll help you build a rack to put him on! But then send to the Earl of Ormond with ransom demands. Make it outrageousâso much that the English cannot hope to pay without sending to London first. Hold Dane and make his life miserable while you wait. And then take England's money, and let Dane go knowing that your enemies have paid for your next five years of fighting.”
She pulled away, her predatory eyes blazing. “Do you know what I hate most about Englishmen? It is not your arrogance, that self-righteous sense of superiority. It is not even your cruelty, for we can be just as cruel. It is that you're so damned reasonable! Yes, reason says I should ransom Dane. Reason says I need the money. Reason says I should not risk English reprisals for killing him.
“But I am not reasonable. I am Irish, and a woman wronged. How often does a woman get the chance to answer the crimes against her? I have that chanceâand I will not forsake it.”
She took his head between her hands, harder than affection would dictate. “If you love me, you will not ask it of me.”
Then she was gone, in a whirl of skirts and fury, and Stephen was left to wonder which principle he would land on: loyalty or love.
From behind him, footsteps sounded quick and soft. He jerked around and swore when he saw Peter Martin. How much had the man heard?
Enough, it seemed. “How are we going to get Dane out of here?” Martin asked.
Stephen had been waiting for this. Martin had kept away from him the last three days, which at least had given him time to consider his response. “I'm not risking my place here for Oliver Dane.”
“Isn't this the very reason you're hereâto protect England's interests?”
The two of them were speaking so softly it was barely words on their breath. “Dane doesn't matter,” Stephen countered. “Not compared to the Spanish soldiers fighting with the Earl of Desmond. Dane threatens only this householdâDesmond threatens all of England's interests in southern Ireland.”
“And how much intelligence have you sent to Walsingham about Desmond's actions?” Martin asked shrewdly.
“I don't report to you.”
“So you won't help me?”
“You want Dane released, find a way yourself.” Stephen could not afford to be attached to it, even if he knew it was wise. He was not prepared to give up his place in this household.
He and Martin parted without further words. Stephen braced himself for the storm that would follow when the spy either spirited Dane away or got caught in the act. He hoped not the latterâMartin might not keep his mouth shut if he were taken. But he told himself there was nothing more he could do.
The wait was not long. Just hours later, Stephen was awakened before dawn to the news that Oliver Dane had vanished.
And so had Liadan and Maisie.
Ailis had not expected to sleep at all that night. So when Diarmid woke her in the dark, it took precious minutes for what he was saying to penetrate her foggy mind. When she understood that not only was Oliver Dane gone, but the guard set outside his cell had his throat cut, Ailis came painfully awake. While Diarmid roused the men, Ailis went straight to Liadan's chamber, driven by an instinct she was afraid to name.
The bed was empty, the linens thrown back as though in haste, and on the floor before the fireplace lay Father Byrne. Ailis knelt, but hardly needed to check. Like the guard, the priest's throat had been cut nearly to the spine. Tossed on his limp body were the keys to Oliver Dane's chains.
Within three minutes the household was roused and searching. Ailis forced herself to wait in the Great Hall, terrified that at any moment someone would bring her word of her daughter's death. She paced the hall, afraid to stop moving because if she did, what she felt would break upon her, and she did not have time to give way to emotion. She would use it, instead, take all her rage and panic and distill it into a weapon with which to scorch her enemies. Wherever they might be.
The first to come was Stephen. He strode straight to her as though to take her in his arms, but Ailis could not allow any weakness. She stopped him with a statement. “Father Byrne is dead.”
“Was it Byrne who released Dane?”
“And got his throat cut for his mercy. A typically English gesture.”
The line of Stephen's jaw tightened. “Is anyone else gone?” he asked abruptly.
“Besides my daughter? Only Maisie. Must I now suspect that quiet girl of collaborating with the English to kidnap my daughter?”
“Of course not. I'm relieved Maisie's with her.”
“With her where?” Ailis cried. “How did they get outside the walls?”
Diarmid entered at that moment with the answer. “They got out through the postern gate. They must have crossed the river.”
“In what? We leave no boats outside the walls. Are you telling me Father Byrne went so far as to provide a boat for him?”
“Maybe not Byrne,” Diarmid said bluntly. “Peter Martin is missing as well.”
“Martin?” Her bewilderment swiftly hardened into outrage. “Bastard! Why couldn't he just stay out of it?”
Fury swirled with her terror, so that Ailis didn't know which way to turn. Before she could decide, a weeping Bridey pushed her way into the hall. “A note,” the old nurse wailed. “Dropped in the wee girl's bedding.” Bridey held out the note she couldn't read, then scuttled away.
Ailis moved faster than Diarmid and snatched it before he could. It was Dane's writing, she knew it at once. It had been scrawled on one of Liadan's translation sheets.
I will release her, but only to one negotiator. Send Lord Somerset to me, and you may have your bastard back.
After her first, silent, read, she repeated it aloud. Diarmid looked as confused as she was. “Somerset?” he said. “Must be English, but why would Dane involve someone we've never heard of? And it will take daysâweeksâto get word to England and back.”
“Liadan can't stay with him for weeks,” Ailis insisted, a little of her desperation leaking through. Surely Dane wasn't so depraved as to use his own daughter? He was doing this to frighten her, to force her to complyâ¦
“It won't be weeks.” It was Stephen who spoke, his voice oddly blank. “It's not even a day's ride to Templemore. You can have Liadan back in less than two days.”
She looked at him in surprise, and then concern. He had gone dead white, so that the black of his hair and the warm hazel of his eyes stood out like warning beacons. But warning of what? She had never seen Stephen look so remote, or so stern.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Do you know this Lord Somerset? Is he in Ireland already?”
When Stephen swallowed, she could actually see the movement in his throat, he was so tightly wound. Then he answered, and everything went still. “My name is not Stephen Wyatt. It's Stephen Courtenayâ¦the Earl of Somerset.”
There was a hiss, then Diarmid lunged at Stephen, dagger drawn. “Stop!” Ailis commanded wildly.
“He's a traitor!”
“Diarmid, stop it. Leave us alone.”
“Not a chance. He's just waiting to kill you.”
“If he wanted to kill me, he'd have done so long before now.” She felt unbelievably, icily calm. Stephen did not look away from her gaze. “Search him, Diarmid, then leave us be.”
Diarmid was rougher than he needed to be in the search, for Stephen wore only a shirt and hose, and every line of the body she knew so well could be easily traced. The dagger she'd allowed him was removed by Diarmid, then he backhanded Stephen across the face with a cracking blow that made her wince.
“Out,” she ordered Diarmid. “And keep your mouth shut. We cannot afford the household in more of a panic.”
Then it was just the two of them.
“Why Wyatt?” she asked, softly, circling him where he stood straight and tall.
If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it. English reticence was written all over him. “My grandfather's name.”
“So, you are not a gentleman's bastard with a Roman Catholic mother.”
“I am not.”
She stopped and stared at him, then shook her head, everything she knew about the English nobility coming to her as she sought for it. “No, you are Stephen Courtenay.
Courtenay,
” she spat. “Earl of Somerset and oldest son of the Duke of Exeter. When your father dies, you will inherit the richest dukedom in England.”
He said nothing.
Prowling around him again, as though he were a zoological exhibit, she mused aloud. “Just how well do you know the English queen?”
“Ailisâ”
“Don't! Every word you've said since coming to us was a lie. Designed to betray us into English hands. And when one of your countrymen was in dangerâ¦well, of course you had to argue to let him go. But why Liadan?”
“It wasn't me.”
“How can you say that?”
“If I had helped to free Dane, I could have ridden out with him. As Peter Martin did. Dane wants me to come precisely because he couldn't get at me any other way.”
“Are you telling me Dane is another intelligencer? Making sure his spy is safe?”
“No. There are things Dane has doneâ¦it doesn't matter at the moment. All that matters is getting Liadan home. You have to let me go.”
She bit her lip so viciously she tasted blood, the terror sweeping back in as the first shock of betrayal faded. “How do I know I can trust you to free her?”
“You don't. Until I do. Then, whatever else you think of meâwhatever I
deserve
you to think of meâperhaps you'll remember this: since my arrival, I have done nothing to jeopardize your position in Ireland. Indeed, I have refrained from making reports I should have to England. There is reason to suspect Dane wants me for nothing more than to hand me over to the English as a traitor.” He met her gaze squarely. “And he would be right.”
“I don't care.” She pronounced each word fully and distinctly. “I will let you go because I must. But if you do not bring back my daughter, I will see you suffer to the end of your days.”
“If Liadan is harmed, you won't have to punish me. I'll do it myself.”
She glared at him and was shocked to realize that part of her still wanted to throw herself at him, to let him embrace her with all his strength and promise her everything would be all right.
Instead, she swept to the door and, finding Diarmid immediately outside as she'd expected, told her captain, “Find the Englishman a horse.”
T
hey did not let Stephen go alone. Even if Diarmid had trusted him, it was far faster to lead him toward Templemore than leave him to find his own way. But they didn't get far, he and Diarmid, before they were intercepted by two men wearing Dane's red and gold boar badge.
“Just the Englishman,” they said.
Diarmid glowered at them, then glowered even more heartily at Stephen. “I never liked you.”
“Good to know.”
“Get her back.”
Stephen set his jaw and fell in with Dane's men. One of them he recognized; he'd last seen him with blood dripping from his sword as he methodically slaughtered prisoners at Carrigafoyle.
They weren't more than two or three hours behind Dane and the girlsâhis men must have been patrolling as close to Cahir Castle as they dared. Probably Peter Martin had sent word of what he planned, thus preparing Dane's men to aid them.
They rode through the kind of darkness that only Ireland producedâas though the air itself were alive and twisting its way inside Stephen's head. It was a seductive darkness, promising oblivion rather than pleasure, and Stephen had to fight to keep himself focused. No drifting back to regrets, no dwelling on Ailis's expression when she realized how he'd betrayed her. The only thing in the world that mattered was to get Liadan and Maisie out of Dane's hands as quickly as could be accomplished.
Blackcastle, as with so much else in this swath of Ireland, had long been owned by the Butler family. This particular property had been leased to Oliver Dane after the destruction of Kilmallock twelve years ago. The eastern sky was lit with the dawn as they approached, and Stephen noted the abbeyâor Big Church, as the literal Irish form of Blackcastle translatedâto their north. They turned west and there was the castle, looming black and stark against the sky as though untouched since 1450. They had to pass through three sets of armed guards before entering; some of them looked at Stephen with recognition and undisguised interest. They knew who he wasâsome, he had served with at Carrigafoyleâand Dane must have warned them of his imminent arrival. He wondered how Dane had described him today. Traitor? Coward? English lordling?
Stephen didn't care. He didn't give a damn about his reputation or his own well-being. Liadan and Maisie were innocents in this entire affairâhe would see them clear of it. No matter the cost.
Clearly Dane was not domestically minded. The medieval lines of the castle looked uncomfortable, as though it knew itself foreign to this land, and there was little to dispel that immediate impression within its walls. All well-ordered, of course, for Dane was a methodical and successful campaigner who knew how to organize men and stores, but also bleak. This was a castle of invaders, who knew themselves to be in hostile territory. It was not where Stephen would have wanted to make his home. But then Dane had no family for which to make a home.
He dismounted in the courtyard and was disappointed, but not terribly surprised, when they did not take him directly to Dane. The man would want to punish him for last night's interview. So Stephen submitted to being locked in a cellâmuch less salubrious than the one at Cahir Castleâthough at least he wasn't chained.
Then he waited.
His cell was belowground, with just a slit at the ceiling to give a little bit of light. Stephen dozed in short bursts on the stone floorâthe pallet provided was stuffed with rank straw and had a colony of mice living in itâand otherwise watched the changing quality of that light, trying to judge the hours. He guessed it was late afternoon before anyone bothered to come for him.
It was Peter Martin.
Stephen, who had come to his feet when he heard the door being unlocked, subsided slowly onto the stool that was the only object in the cell besides the pallet and the unsavory bucket in the corner that had not been cleaned since the last prisoner. “What do you want?” he asked Martin.
“To make you see sense. Dane did you a favour, pulling you out of Cahir before it was too late.”
“It was only too late because Dane made good and certain to blow my cover.”
“You did that yourselfâthe moment you allowed Irish concerns to override your judgment.”
“Not your affair.”
“The hell it isn't!” Martin exploded. “Because of your refusal to act, I've blown my own cover. I can't stay in Ireland after thisâbecause of you, I've lost years of work. Walsingham got good intelligence from me. Now what is he left with?”
“He's left with a man who would throw away the lives of two innocent girls to save one bloody wretched Englishman!” Could he manage to throttle Martin before the guards came running?
Martin blinked. “I didn't know Dane would take the girls. I had nothing to do with what happened inside the castle. I simply persuaded Father Byrne to release Dane and have him meet me outside the postern gate. I was bloody shocked when he dragged those two out with him!”
“Not shocked enough to force him to leave them behind. Did you even try? Or were they just two more impediments to your service?”
“Dane has not touched them. They are safely confined to the top floor of the castle, with myself the only man who goes up there.”
“And if Dane wanted to go up thereâ¦you would stop him?”
Martin's silence was answer enough.
Stephen shook his head in contempt. “Two men are dead back at CahirâDane's guard, and Father Byrne himself. I imagine the priest, at least, was protesting Dane's attempt to remove the girls.”
“It's no matter of mine. Not anymore. Wherever Walsingham sends me after this, I won't be able to return to Ireland.”
“You'd better hope Walsingham sends you far away from me,” Stephen countered. “Next time we meet, I'll kill you. Not for doing your jobâbut for being a coward about it.”
Martin left without another word.
It was fully dark once more before the door opened again and Oliver Dane sauntered in. Stephen wasn't fooled by the apparent casual easeâhe had studied Dane last year. He knew all too well how quickly the man could shift from repose to violence.
Dane had bathed and changed, although Stephen doubted he owned anything too luxurious. The man was not interested in luxury itselfâa trait that Stephen had admired in the field. He liked soldiers who knew their job and did it well for its own sake, and not for the rewards it might bring. How could he feel otherwise, with the father he had?
Stephen shoved away thoughts of his father, knowing that would not help now. For all Dane's claim that Liadan would be released when he arrived, he didn't trust the man. They were embarked on a delicate dance of negotiation, with lives in the balance. This was nothing like shadowing Mary Stuart. Flirting with the Scots queen had been a lark compared to Ireland.
He should have confined himself to the battlefield.
Dane took the stool for himself, stretching out his legs and tipping back against the wall. “Sit,” he commanded.
Stephen sat on the floor, braced arms resting on his knees. He could propel himself up quickly if necessary. Then he waited.
“It takes a lot to surprise me,” Dane said musingly. “Especially in Ireland. I pride myself on expecting the unexpected. But nothing prepared me for seeing you at Cahir Castle. Last year, I took you for nothing more than a spoiled rich boy who came to Ireland for adventure and would gladly go home when it became uncomfortable.”
Since there didn't seem to be any response required, Stephen kept quiet. That made Dane narrow his eyes and shake his head.
“Then came your protests at Carrigafoyle. You know who can afford to take the moral high ground? Men who have no vested interest in the outcome. You don't belong here, Courtenay, and you proved that the moment you defied me over the prisoners.”
Stephen bit the inside of his mouth to provide a distraction from the mocking.
Dane's face lit with a knowing smile. “But Ireland sees to its own. You learned that lesson, didn't you? Outside Kilkenny? But not well enough. Because there you were last night, slipping into my cell at Cahir, giving me orders. Who would have guessed you had that in you?”
“Where's Liadan?” Stephen said abruptly.
“Safe. Along with her rather persistent nursemaid.”
“She's not a nursemaid.”
Dane waved away the issue of Maisie. “The Scots girl took a swipe at me with a dagger. I would have left her behind like the priest, but decided it would make things easier to bring her. I'm not meant to look after children.”
“I couldn't agree more. So let Liadan and Maisie go and simplify your life.”
“Don't you want to see them?”
“I'll be happy to watch them as they ride out of here.”
Dane stretched, a disconcerting grin on his face. “So self-sacrificing! Don't you even want to know my plans for you?”
“Not really.” He would not engage. He would not let his temper break. He would not think of Roisin and Harrington and all the prisoners falling at this man's ordersâ¦
With a thud, Dane let the stool thump back to the ground. He stood. “It's late. I've put the girls in a chamber well away from my men. No one can get to them except me and Martin. We'll let them sleep, shall we? Feed them well in the morning, then finish the affair.”
Was it really going to be that easy? Stephen slowly levered himself up from the floor, watching Dane warily. “Can I see them in the morning before they go?” One last chance to send a message back to Ailis. If he could think of anything worth saying.
“Oh, I've a better idea than that. I'm sending you back to Cahir yourself.”
Whistling, Dane let himself out, leaving Stephen dumbfounded behind him.
As the first streaks of morning crept through the narrow slit, a man brought him porridge and ale. Stephen ate gratefully, for yesterday had been a long ride and, if Dane could be believed, today would be the same.
The same guard who'd brought breakfast returned perhaps an hour later and motioned Stephen to follow him. He did, a bit stiffly, for the combination of stone floor and taut nerves had not contributed to rest. He took careful note of all he saw on the wayâpartly instinct, and partly a means of calming his nerves. There was little enough of use, for they were hardly going to parade him through the heart of the castle. Still, he counted the men that he saw passing in corridors or through windows once he was aboveground. He also noted that though the castle had not been much updated, it was well maintained. Medieval it might be, but nothing close to a ruin.
His nerves eased a bit when he reached the courtyard and caught sight of Liadan and Maisie. The child had grown since Stephen's arrival in Ireland, and now topped the older girl by an inch. But this morning Liadan looked younger, vulnerable in a way he'd never seen her at Cahir.
When no one tried to stop him, he went straight to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, leaning down.
“Of course.” Liadan's voice wobbled. Frowning, she tried again. “I'm sorry to put you to all the trouble of riding after us.”
“No trouble at all,” he assured her. “Your mother is most anxious and would spare nothing to get you home at once.”
She smiled, a miniature version of Ailis's blindingly beautiful smile, and said, “I am ready.”
“So eager to leave your father's hospitality?” Dane strode into the courtyard, his mockery ringing through the air.
Stephen straightened while Maisie laid a hand on Liadan's armâin warning or support. Perhaps both.
Liadan declined to answer, and Stephen bit back a grin at her obvious contempt. Here was a girl who would make her motherâher entire clanâproud.
There were two horses readied; either the girls would share or Stephen wasn't really leaving. Though in that case, surely Dane didn't mean to send two young girls on their own across the Irish countryside?
“What about you, Courtenay? Ready to leave English territory so soon?”