a long sip from his pewter goblet. The rubies set into the thick stem flashed with a red brilliance.
‘Nay, it’s not true. Tell him, Father! Why, we saw the King not above a sennight ago!’ Even to her own ears, her words were slick with falsehood. Her mind scrabbled to remember the last time she had seen King Henry.
The Duke set his pewter goblet down with studied patience, turning his light-grey eyes towards her. ‘Do not feed me lies, young lady. Your father has told me of your close relationship with the Queen; I would use that to my advantage. You will return to court and find out what has happened to the King, find out what kind of mental state he is in.’
Beneath her fingers, Alice pleated, then unpleated the thick silk of her skirts. A cold stone of fear lodged in her stomach. She had heard Queen Margaret’s talk at court, of how she hated the Duke of York, the king’s cousin, convinced that all he wanted was to snatch the throne and be King of England himself.
‘You’re asking me to spy for you,’ Alice whispered.
‘Precisely.’
‘And you’ll keep my father a prisoner here until I come back with news.’
‘Why, you do understand quickly,’ Richard replied, a mocking smile on his face. His skin appeared stretched, taut, with the dark shadow of a beard about his jaw. ‘And if you don’t come back, why, then you will never see your father again.’
Tears welled in her eyes, and she hung her head, trying to hide her weakness, but her mind spun into action. How would they know that she brought the truth? She could return here with a bundle of lies to suit the Duke’s ear and secure her father’s release. What could be simpler?
‘And to make sure you bring back the truth—’ the Duke’s speech jerked once more in her brain ‘—I’ll send an escort with you. Someone I can trust.’ He placed great emphasis on the last word, indicating that he didn’t trust her in the slightest. ‘Someone to make certain that you don’t tittle-tattle.’
Alice lifted her pewter goblet, raising it to her lips. Some idiot of a soldier didn’t worry her; she’d be able to outwit him in an instant, and he would be none the wiser. The thought of escaping this place, of rounding up support for her father, imbued her with sudden confidence. She took a deep gulp, feeling the honeyed liquid slide down her throat.
‘Who’s the lucky man?’ As Alice set her goblet down, her eyes swept the room for a suitable candidate. Over there, lounging by the fire, a short man, with thickset brow and kind face—aye, that was the sort of person who could come with her. ‘I’m sorry, what didyou say?’ Suffused with her own plans, her burgeoning hope, she had failed to catch the Duke’s words.
‘Lord Bastien will go with you, naturally.’
Alice’s confidence drained from her limbs. Her father took her small, cold hands in his. ‘It will be all right, Alice, you’ll see.’
‘Nay.’ She jumped up, almost tipping her chair back with the violence of the movement, fixing her father with her imperious blue orbs. ‘Nay, Father, it will not be all right!’
The gardens at Ludlow has been set out some years ago, in a formal pattern of rectangles and half-circles. Alice’s skirts whisked over the low box hedges as she walked angrily down one of the main paths. The edge of her sleeve caught a rose head in its final unstable moments as a flower, and the pink petals tumbled down, emitting a sweet heady perfume as they fell in her wake, showering the uneven stone path.
Footsteps descended purposefully on the steps behind her, following her.
She spun round, believing it to be her father, searching the blue-fringed twilight for his familiar silhouette.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ she blurted out, dismayed as she recognising Bastien’s bright hair emerging from the shadows.
‘I came to fetch you back,’ he explained, a weariness in his voice.
‘Oh, aye, I forgot. It wouldn’t do to let me out of your sight now,
‘Nay, it’s not true. Tell him, Father! Why, we saw the King not above a sennight ago!’ Even to her own ears, her words were slick with falsehood. Her mind scrabbled to remember the last time she had seen King Henry.
The Duke set his pewter goblet down with studied patience, turning his light-grey eyes towards her. ‘Do not feed me lies, young lady. Your father has told me of your close relationship with the Queen; I would use that to my advantage. You will return to court and find out what has happened to the King, find out what kind of mental state he is in.’
Beneath her fingers, Alice pleated, then unpleated the thick silk of her skirts. A cold stone of fear lodged in her stomach. She had heard Queen Margaret’s talk at court, of how she hated the Duke of York, the king’s cousin, convinced that all he wanted was to snatch the throne and be King of England himself.
‘You’re asking me to spy for you,’ Alice whispered.
‘Precisely.’
‘And you’ll keep my father a prisoner here until I come back with news.’
‘Why, you do understand quickly,’ Richard replied, a mocking smile on his face. His skin appeared stretched, taut, with the dark shadow of a beard about his jaw. ‘And if you don’t come back, why, then you will never see your father again.’
Tears welled in her eyes, and she hung her head, trying to hide her weakness, but her mind spun into action. How would they know that she brought the truth? She could return here with a bundle of lies to suit the Duke’s ear and secure her father’s release. What could be simpler?
‘And to make sure you bring back the truth—’ the Duke’s speech jerked once more in her brain ‘—I’ll send an escort with you. Someone I can trust.’ He placed great emphasis on the last word, indicating that he didn’t trust her in the slightest. ‘Someone to make certain that you don’t tittle-tattle.’
Alice lifted her pewter goblet, raising it to her lips. Some idiot of a soldier didn’t worry her; she’d be able to outwit him in an instant, and he would be none the wiser. The thought of escaping this place, of rounding up support for her father, imbued her with sudden confidence. She took a deep gulp, feeling the honeyed liquid slide down her throat.
‘Who’s the lucky man?’ As Alice set her goblet down, her eyes swept the room for a suitable candidate. Over there, lounging by the fire, a short man, with thickset brow and kind face—aye, that was the sort of person who could come with her. ‘I’m sorry, what didyou say?’ Suffused with her own plans, her burgeoning hope, she had failed to catch the Duke’s words.
‘Lord Bastien will go with you, naturally.’
Alice’s confidence drained from her limbs. Her father took her small, cold hands in his. ‘It will be all right, Alice, you’ll see.’
‘Nay.’ She jumped up, almost tipping her chair back with the violence of the movement, fixing her father with her imperious blue orbs. ‘Nay, Father, it will not be all right!’
The gardens at Ludlow has been set out some years ago, in a formal pattern of rectangles and half-circles. Alice’s skirts whisked over the low box hedges as she walked angrily down one of the main paths. The edge of her sleeve caught a rose head in its final unstable moments as a flower, and the pink petals tumbled down, emitting a sweet heady perfume as they fell in her wake, showering the uneven stone path.
Footsteps descended purposefully on the steps behind her, following her.
She spun round, believing it to be her father, searching the blue-fringed twilight for his familiar silhouette.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ she blurted out, dismayed as she recognising Bastien’s bright hair emerging from the shadows.
‘I came to fetch you back,’ he explained, a weariness in his voice.
‘Oh, aye, I forgot. It wouldn’t do to let me out of your sight now,
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