The Spymaster's Daughter by Jeane Westin

Author:Jeane Westin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101594391
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2012-08-06T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I might—unhappy word—O me, I might,

And then would not, or could not, see my bliss,

Till now, wrapt in a most infernal night…. ”

—Astrophel and Stella, Sir Philip Sidney

May Day, May 1

R obert had spent some time staring into the dark corridor when he saw Frances’s cloaked figure slipping toward him. He knew her tall, slender form as he knew his own in a mirror. He had not meant to be so early. Yet he could not stay in his chamber, so eager was he to see her again, unable to delay the pleasure of deciphering her gaze as it settled on him. Were those eyes saying what he wanted, or was he acting the fool?

The situation was almost amusing, he thought, his lips pursed in irony. The court would laugh. Like the Greek gods on Olympus, the God of England played great jests on his creations, offering beauty and then snatching it away.

He looked out again into the corridor. Frances was moving slowly toward him, sideslipping the pools of lantern light to stay in shadow, pausing every minute or so to determine whether she was being followed. By Jesu, she was a natural spy! He felt some pride, as if he had been the teacher of her skills, though he had not. She was a born intelligencer, and he wondered that Mr. Secretary had not seen it long ago. His sharp eyes usually saw everything, but his own daughter was too close, and he too farsighted where she was concerned. He had one idea for her and one alone: as wife to a famous man to bring honor to his name.

Robert had avoided the alcove farther down the corridor where he had told Frances to find him. Alcoves were too often used by midnight lovers. Tonight he had chosen to stand in a little-used exit from the kitchens below.

Cooks and their helpers had by now fallen exhausted onto their pallets. Robert knew he and Frances would be safer in this place than in any open alcove. As she passed him, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms, one hand across her mouth to stifle a scream that might bring guards running.

“Frances, have no fear,” he whispered into her ear.

He knew he should loose her immediately, but as he turned her about and against his body, by all the saints, he could not in an instant give up her warm flesh under his hands. Could a parched man push his ale away?

For an instant, perhaps more, she seemed to move into him, become a part of him. He felt himself losing what control he possessed. How quickly good intention fled. He pulled back from the brink of folly at the last possible moment.

“My lady,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “this is a safer meeting place at this hour.” He stepped back and made a half bow to reestablish their natural distance and save himself from an act that could well end her regard and friendship.

Frances leaned against

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