eye on things. But then you know that too, especially with your knowledge of her trips by barge or horse, maybe coach too.”
“Meaning what?” she asked as they walked around a puddle of refuse someone had just heaved out of an upper window. Instinctively, they moved closer to the shops and houses, beneath the overhang of second and third stories.
“Meaning Jenks and I see you now and then as you are seeing her.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Everyone likes to see her. Oh, Ned, I wish things hadn't exploded so bad between Her Grace and me. I'd risk all to have her take me back.”
“Would you now?” he said as he studied her askance.
They stopped before a group of children playing a game with pig knucklebones, then turned around and started back toward the shop. “But taking her clotheslike that, Meg,” he protested, “then impersonating her with—”
“What do you think you trained me to do and she asked of me more than once?” she demanded so loudly he glanced both ways and tugged her back into a narrow alley.
“You'd never do such a thing again, would you?” he demanded, “I mean, borrow one of her gowns and such?”
Her stomach flip-flopped. Could this mean he'd been sent to ask her to return?
“I may be some knock-headed girl she took in and you taught to read and write proper, but do you think I'm demented?”
“Fine, fine,” was all the usually loquacious actor would say.
Her hopes of a palace reprieve shattered. “I've got to go,” she said, however much she cherished each moment with him. Each time he turned tail to return to the world and woman she cared so for, it nearly killed her. “No good to be seen in alleys with the likes of you,” she added, hoping that sounded lighthearted.
“It's a good place to observe others from, though, isn't it?” he countered as he glanced up and down their narrow hiding place, his voice dark with unspoken accusations again.
She stared him down. “Spit it out, Edward Thompson, alias Ned Topside, queen's fool and favorite player. I'm no fool, so don't play your clever games with me.”
“I have it on good authority you were in an alley on Knightrider Street yesterday morn, covertly watching Her Majesty.”
Caught, she thought, but she spit out, “On whose good authority? Jenks's?”
“Meant to stay hidden, did you?”
“I was part of the crowd there and crowds don't covertly watch Her Majesty. They do it loudly and publicly. Yes, I was out in the area doing deliveries because Nick Cotter took sick, and you can ask him about that. And I don't need you playing inquisitor any more than I need Ben Wilton doing it!”
She turned on her heel, but he seized her arm and spun her back hard against his chest. She pressed both hands flat to him until he let her go. They stared deep and long into each other's eyes while her stomach turned another flip-flop or two.
“Yes,” she said, her voice nearly breaking, “I watch her when I can. I love to watch her, be near her. Like you, like all of us, I
love her.
”
He but nodded when she was expecting a bitter scolding or long speech. “It's just that someone in that crowd put something in her coach that shouldn't have been there,” he said, his voice more kindly now. “Were you present when she screamed?”
“Screamed? Elizabeth Tudor screamed? No. What caused it?”
“Suffice it to say it was something stuffed with your— and her—favorite sweet-smelling herbs,” he told her, and she saw he was again watching her face for any reaction. But if the man was too much of a lackbrain to know how she adored him, she wasn't worried he'd uncover her passion for him or much else.
“Then that's all?” she asked, hand on hips. “If you're going to blame me, you're barking up the wrong tree, royal lapdog.”
“By the way,” he said, “Lord Robin's not even that anymore, so she's taken a turn from all men. The queen uses Mary Sidney as a sort of escort, a chaperone when
“Meaning what?” she asked as they walked around a puddle of refuse someone had just heaved out of an upper window. Instinctively, they moved closer to the shops and houses, beneath the overhang of second and third stories.
“Meaning Jenks and I see you now and then as you are seeing her.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Everyone likes to see her. Oh, Ned, I wish things hadn't exploded so bad between Her Grace and me. I'd risk all to have her take me back.”
“Would you now?” he said as he studied her askance.
They stopped before a group of children playing a game with pig knucklebones, then turned around and started back toward the shop. “But taking her clotheslike that, Meg,” he protested, “then impersonating her with—”
“What do you think you trained me to do and she asked of me more than once?” she demanded so loudly he glanced both ways and tugged her back into a narrow alley.
“You'd never do such a thing again, would you?” he demanded, “I mean, borrow one of her gowns and such?”
Her stomach flip-flopped. Could this mean he'd been sent to ask her to return?
“I may be some knock-headed girl she took in and you taught to read and write proper, but do you think I'm demented?”
“Fine, fine,” was all the usually loquacious actor would say.
Her hopes of a palace reprieve shattered. “I've got to go,” she said, however much she cherished each moment with him. Each time he turned tail to return to the world and woman she cared so for, it nearly killed her. “No good to be seen in alleys with the likes of you,” she added, hoping that sounded lighthearted.
“It's a good place to observe others from, though, isn't it?” he countered as he glanced up and down their narrow hiding place, his voice dark with unspoken accusations again.
She stared him down. “Spit it out, Edward Thompson, alias Ned Topside, queen's fool and favorite player. I'm no fool, so don't play your clever games with me.”
“I have it on good authority you were in an alley on Knightrider Street yesterday morn, covertly watching Her Majesty.”
Caught, she thought, but she spit out, “On whose good authority? Jenks's?”
“Meant to stay hidden, did you?”
“I was part of the crowd there and crowds don't covertly watch Her Majesty. They do it loudly and publicly. Yes, I was out in the area doing deliveries because Nick Cotter took sick, and you can ask him about that. And I don't need you playing inquisitor any more than I need Ben Wilton doing it!”
She turned on her heel, but he seized her arm and spun her back hard against his chest. She pressed both hands flat to him until he let her go. They stared deep and long into each other's eyes while her stomach turned another flip-flop or two.
“Yes,” she said, her voice nearly breaking, “I watch her when I can. I love to watch her, be near her. Like you, like all of us, I
love her.
”
He but nodded when she was expecting a bitter scolding or long speech. “It's just that someone in that crowd put something in her coach that shouldn't have been there,” he said, his voice more kindly now. “Were you present when she screamed?”
“Screamed? Elizabeth Tudor screamed? No. What caused it?”
“Suffice it to say it was something stuffed with your— and her—favorite sweet-smelling herbs,” he told her, and she saw he was again watching her face for any reaction. But if the man was too much of a lackbrain to know how she adored him, she wasn't worried he'd uncover her passion for him or much else.
“Then that's all?” she asked, hand on hips. “If you're going to blame me, you're barking up the wrong tree, royal lapdog.”
“By the way,” he said, “Lord Robin's not even that anymore, so she's taken a turn from all men. The queen uses Mary Sidney as a sort of escort, a chaperone when
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