him back against an elaborately carved bench.
“I told you, I can’t help you. We don’t have an agreement.” His companion edged closer to the entrance. He was tall, as tall as Parker, and as broad in the shoulders. Like Parker he had a way of holding himself, in perfect control of his body. He wore the green and white of the King’s Yeoman of the Guard, the King’s bodyguards. The head of his halberd gleamed in the weak daylight from the open door.
“You renege?” The courtier’s fists tightened.
“Quiet.” The guard barely held his voice above a whisper, and then took a shuddering breath. “Every sharp-eyed gossip in London is here. You are as mad as I suspected.” He stopped abruptly, his lips held tight as he noticed Susanna.
He watched her walk past them and through the massive double doors to the churchyard in silence. The back of her neck pricked, and she was sure they were staring after her as she slipped out.
She braced herself as she closed the door behind her and took the full brunt of the wind. It tugged at her cloak, billowing it around her, ripping at her cap like a hasty lover.
As she reached the top step, she stopped, a burst of warmth that had nothing to do with the weak sun suddenly leaping within. Parker was coming across the churchyard toward her.
He moved with his usual efficient grace, and she was struck anew at the wonder that he was hers. Her betrothed. Her lover. She had traced every sharp angle of his face with her fingers. With her lips.
She smiled, and cared not at all if the whole world saw what it revealed.
He reached the first of the shallow steps up to the cathedral door, caught her eye, and smiled back.
At that moment, as their eyes met in a flash of heat, the courtier she’d noticed before burst out of the door and knocked into her, pushing past her, down the stairs.
She cried out, stumbled and fell straight into Parker’s arms.
He caught her easily and set her down. The eyes he turned toward the man as he ran into the street beyond were hard.
Curious, she looked back at the cathedral door and saw the guard standing just outside it, his eyes as hard as Parker’s as he watched his companion flee.
Parker followed her gaze and raised his brows as he noticed the man. “Halliwell.”
The guard turned to Parker at his call and froze, his face draining of all color as he recognzied him. Then his gaze shifted to Susanna, to how Parker’s arm still loosely circled her, and he pushed back against the door of the cathedral, fear sitting oddly on so strong a man.
Parker cast her a quick, quizzical glance.
“He was talking with the man who bumped into me—” she began, when Halliwell, still using the wall to support himself, stumbled down the stairs.
Then he turned and braced himself with both hands, and was sick.
“What is it?” Susanna’s soft murmur drew nothing but a groan from Halliwell, but Parker suspected he did not deserve any sympathy.
True, the circumstances were far from obvious, but the way Halliwell had reacted when Susanna began to tell him who Halliwell had been with in the cathedral was more enlightening than a thousand words.
“Let me guess. Geoffrey Pole is up to something and you’re involved. What does he intend to do?” Parker stood just out of Halliwell’s range, in case he decided to be sick again.
Susanna frowned. “Who is Geoffrey Pole?”
Parker kept his eyes on Halliwell. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he no longer trusted the guard, especially not near Susanna. “The man who knocked you off the steps.” He leaned a shoulder against the cathedral wall. “And the King’s cousin.”
“I knew I was good as dead. Soon as I saw you.” Halliwell straightened and looked at Parker with hopeless eyes. “That mad idiot is going to try and destroy the King, and himself and his family along with him, and ’cause your lady saw us together, the finger will go straight to me. And I didn’t do anything. I told him I
“I told you, I can’t help you. We don’t have an agreement.” His companion edged closer to the entrance. He was tall, as tall as Parker, and as broad in the shoulders. Like Parker he had a way of holding himself, in perfect control of his body. He wore the green and white of the King’s Yeoman of the Guard, the King’s bodyguards. The head of his halberd gleamed in the weak daylight from the open door.
“You renege?” The courtier’s fists tightened.
“Quiet.” The guard barely held his voice above a whisper, and then took a shuddering breath. “Every sharp-eyed gossip in London is here. You are as mad as I suspected.” He stopped abruptly, his lips held tight as he noticed Susanna.
He watched her walk past them and through the massive double doors to the churchyard in silence. The back of her neck pricked, and she was sure they were staring after her as she slipped out.
She braced herself as she closed the door behind her and took the full brunt of the wind. It tugged at her cloak, billowing it around her, ripping at her cap like a hasty lover.
As she reached the top step, she stopped, a burst of warmth that had nothing to do with the weak sun suddenly leaping within. Parker was coming across the churchyard toward her.
He moved with his usual efficient grace, and she was struck anew at the wonder that he was hers. Her betrothed. Her lover. She had traced every sharp angle of his face with her fingers. With her lips.
She smiled, and cared not at all if the whole world saw what it revealed.
He reached the first of the shallow steps up to the cathedral door, caught her eye, and smiled back.
At that moment, as their eyes met in a flash of heat, the courtier she’d noticed before burst out of the door and knocked into her, pushing past her, down the stairs.
She cried out, stumbled and fell straight into Parker’s arms.
He caught her easily and set her down. The eyes he turned toward the man as he ran into the street beyond were hard.
Curious, she looked back at the cathedral door and saw the guard standing just outside it, his eyes as hard as Parker’s as he watched his companion flee.
Parker followed her gaze and raised his brows as he noticed the man. “Halliwell.”
The guard turned to Parker at his call and froze, his face draining of all color as he recognzied him. Then his gaze shifted to Susanna, to how Parker’s arm still loosely circled her, and he pushed back against the door of the cathedral, fear sitting oddly on so strong a man.
Parker cast her a quick, quizzical glance.
“He was talking with the man who bumped into me—” she began, when Halliwell, still using the wall to support himself, stumbled down the stairs.
Then he turned and braced himself with both hands, and was sick.
“What is it?” Susanna’s soft murmur drew nothing but a groan from Halliwell, but Parker suspected he did not deserve any sympathy.
True, the circumstances were far from obvious, but the way Halliwell had reacted when Susanna began to tell him who Halliwell had been with in the cathedral was more enlightening than a thousand words.
“Let me guess. Geoffrey Pole is up to something and you’re involved. What does he intend to do?” Parker stood just out of Halliwell’s range, in case he decided to be sick again.
Susanna frowned. “Who is Geoffrey Pole?”
Parker kept his eyes on Halliwell. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he no longer trusted the guard, especially not near Susanna. “The man who knocked you off the steps.” He leaned a shoulder against the cathedral wall. “And the King’s cousin.”
“I knew I was good as dead. Soon as I saw you.” Halliwell straightened and looked at Parker with hopeless eyes. “That mad idiot is going to try and destroy the King, and himself and his family along with him, and ’cause your lady saw us together, the finger will go straight to me. And I didn’t do anything. I told him I
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