It took Aleneil a week to convince Katherine Champernowne, Elizabeth's governess, that she should admit a foreign merchant to the little girl's presence. That he was noble, connected to Hungarian royalty helped . . . a little. That he had been the duke of Richmond's favorite—a fact attested to by several of King Henry's courtiers—also helped, at least enough that Mistress Champernowne agreed to introduce him to Elizabeth. From there on, she said, it was up to Lady Elizabeth herself. She was perfectly capable of exchanging a few icy politenesses and ending the interview.
On the day assigned, a bright but chilly Tuesday in late March, Denoriel passed through the old Gate Magus Major Treowth had established for him not far from Hatfield. The old palace was still a frequent residence for Lady Elizabeth, not princess now, but at least acknowledged as the illegitimate daughter of the king. For a time, some had hoped that Great Harry might claim otherwise, but he himself had stepped away from that abyss—-he had recognized Elizabeth too openly and for too long to claim now that the girl was of another's get. Miralys emerged from a patch of woods alongside a farm road. Aleneil on Ystwyth followed almost on Miralys's heels.
Aleneil's frown of concern relaxed when Denoriel turned in his saddle to make a gesture of success. But he did not look at her long and had to struggle with his own expression before it gave her new cause for worry.
Not that the strong magic of the Gate had harmed him. He was no more aware of it—perhaps less aware—than he had ever been. It was Aleneil he found it hard to look at. He could not get accustomed to her appearance as Mistress Alana. Aleneil was beautiful—all Sidhe were beautiful—and Mistress Alana offended his eyes. She was . . . well, not ugly; plain was the best one could say. Her hair was a dull, muddy brown, her eyes small and pale fringed with scanty eyebrows and eyelashes paler than her hair. Her complexion was sallow, her nose an undistinguished button, her lips pale, her teeth yellowed and crooked.
It was true, however, Denoriel thought, as Ystwyth came alongside of Miralys at the place the farm track met the main road, that one did not dwell on Lady Alana's face. Her person faded into the background of her exquisite garments.
Just now, atop the muddy hair was a remarkable hat, perhaps a whisper ahead of the fashion but no more than a whisper. Lady Alana was never bold. Over her soft gold velvet coif—no woman went without a coif—was a round cap, a man's cap, of umber velvet with a rolled edge striped in gold. Ear flaps of brown velvet, so heavily embroidered in gold that it was hard to discern the original shade, depended from the sides of the cap going around to fit the back of the head to confine her hair. And just above the ear flap on the right side of the cap, was a jaunty, sleek, red pheasant feather.
Her riding dress was every bit as elegant as the cap. Over a high-necked chemise with a ruffled collar—the low, bare, square neckline most fashionable in women's gowns would not be suitable for riding—Lady Alana wore something very like a man's doublet in a warm brown and gold brocade. From under the doublet flowed a very rich umber velvet skirt embroidered in gold, split from waist to hem fore and aft for riding as were the several petticoats (Denoriel had not bothered to ask how many) that supported the skirt. The velvet was covered—to protect it from rain or mud splatters—with a heavily pleated brown canvas safeguard.
Denoriel's dress, although rich and elegant, could not compare in stylishness with hers. For comfort in riding, Denoriel wore a long-skirted doublet that came to midthigh of a deep rose velvet embroidered across the breast and around the neck in silver. The white shirt beneath it showed in small pleats at the neck and wrists where the full sleeves narrowed into a long, close cuff. Under the doublet were pale gray slops, also embroidered in silver, but they only showed when the wind blew back the skirt of the doublet. Long hose, gartered both above and below the knee were covered almost completely by tall boots, slit at the back and turned down to the knee.
The costume was not as sumptuous as those he had often worn when he visited FitzRoy in company with George Boleyn, but George was long dead, and Elizabeth was living—at least at present—in less exalted state than FitzRoy had been. At present the king had a living legitimate son as his heir, and Elizabeth's position was very uncertain.
They paused at the entrance to the main road to make sure no one was coming along who might wonder what so elegant a pair had been doing up the farm track. Denoriel looked down at Aleneil and frowned.
"You said Elizabeth rode. Not I hope on one of those lunatic sidesaddles that have become the fashion."
Aleneil shook her head. "Not for serious riding, no, and until now she has been kept too much in the background to ride in processions."
He raised an eyebrow. "Serious riding? What can you mean? She is no more than eight years old."
Aleneil pursed her lips, and for the first time, looked just a trifle annoyed with him. "Nonetheless, she rides very well and loves the exercise, although her father has not yet given permission for her to go hunting."
"Hunting? A girl-child?"
Denoriel couldn't help himself; he goggled at Aleneil. It was one thing for an elven maiden to decide to take to the hunt and even to arms—there were, in fact, female knights, and woe betide him who thought them any less in prowess than the males! But a mortal girl-child? Hunting? Even the ladies hardly did more than genteelly toss a falcon into the air and permit their falconers to retrieve bird and quarry!
But—what really worried Denoriel—to go hunting, in the half-wild woods, would give enemies more opportunities at the child than he cared to think about.
Aleneil gave him a reproving frown. "Yes, indeed, and do not you dare quarrel with her about it or she will take you in dislike, and that would be a disaster. She is very tenacious of her likes and dislikes."
"But if it puts her in danger—"
"Denor—I mean, Lord Denno," Aleneil said sharply, "this child is not another Harry FitzRoy. Do not expect the same goodness, the same sweetness, from her. She learned many bitter lessons while you were healing and she does not give her trust for a smile and a hug."
The road was empty, and they moved out onto it, now riding side by side. "You sound almost as if you do not like her," Denoriel said.
"I don't know that I do," Aleneil admitted. "But young as she is, I respect her. And . . . and I am a little afraid of what she will become. There is a way that she can look at you that is—disturbingly calculating. Even now, every single person who has ever seen her remarks that she has great dignity."
Denoriel was not convinced. "Harry could be dignified too, but it was all outside. Inside he was a little boy who wanted to be loved."
There was a rather longer silence than Denoriel expected and he looked down at Aleneil, who sighed and shook her head.
"I have no idea what is inside Elizabeth," she said at last. "She will not let me close enough. I do not know that she has ever confided in anyone. I hope you will be able to forge some bond with her quickly, but you will not have much time."
"Why not? Did you not tell me that her governess was of an obliging nature, very romantic, and not too wise?" He smiled, confident in his ability to win over any mortal woman. "Surely I should be able to make her welcoming to me, especially as I am willing to contribute lavishly to the household expenses."
Aleneil shook her head. "Oh, Kat Champernowne is not the problem. You will wind her about your finger in a quarter of an hour. The trouble is that the king is planning to have all his children live together as soon as it is judged that Edward is not likely to take any disease from the others."
"Will it matter?" Denoriel asked. "Norfolk's children lived with Harry. In a way it was convenient because it was not so obvious that I was guarding Harry."
Aleneil sniffed with gentle disdain. "If you think Harry was well guarded after the attempt on his life, you will find that nothing compared with the guards and attendants around Edward. No one gets to see the boy except by the king's own permission."
Denoriel shook his head. "But I don't want to see Edward—"
"Unfortunately, when the children are in the same household with the same tutors, Edward's guards will guard Elizabeth too, just as Harry's guards watched Norfolk's children. It will not be easy to reach her. I do not know whether Kat will even be allowed to receive me so casually after the households are joined. You, being male, might have greater difficulty."
"Hmmm. But you think that if she takes to me, she will be able to . . . No, she is too young to have any influence."
"I do not know. She is . . . exceptional. However, what I meant was that if you find favor with her, she will remember and welcome you more gladly when the households are separated, as they will be from time to time."
They had reached the gate to Hatfield Palace by then and Denoriel made no reply, only smiling at the guard, who seemed to know Lady Alana quite well and nodded acceptance when she said that Lord Denno was expected. However, they did not ride straight up the wide road to the central courtyard. About two-thirds of the way along, she turned right onto a side path that took them to the east wing of the palace. Here a lesser courtyard was guarded by a familiar figure.
"Gerrit!" Denoriel exclaimed. "How surprised I am to see you, and how glad. I am sorry I did not enquire about you, but after that crazy attempt to take the princess—"
Gerrit shook his head and looked anxious, his eyes warning. "Lady Elizabeth, yes. But I don't remember too much about that night. Only that after it . . . His Grace of Richmond sickened and . . . he died, m'lord. He . . . he asked for you sometimes."
"I didn't know," Denoriel said, allowing his eyes to fill with tears. "Harry knew I was bound to leave the very next day on a trading venture I could not delay any longer. At first I received letters from him. He never said he was sick. When I heard . . . I simply could not come back to England in time. I am sorry. I should have thought of Harry's dependents."
"Oh, no. No need to worry for that, m'lord. His Grace's will took care of all of us. But you know, we were so used to being together . . . it was like a family. And when Ladbroke came and told me that he and Dunstan had got taken into Lady Elizabeth's service, I . . . we all came and spoke to Dunstan." He uttered a low chuckle. "That Dunstan. It's lucky he don't want to be God, 'cause I think he might just wheedle his way up on the heavenly throne."
"Ladbroke and Dunstan are in service to the prin—to Lady Elizabeth too? I am delighted. And the boy, Tolliver, was it?"
There was nothing to surprise Gerrit in Lord Denno not seeming to know what might have become of Henry FitzRoy's servants even though he was in the company of Lady Alana. For all Gerrit would know, she had never noticed them in FitzRoy's service. Many of the nobility never "saw" servants and guards. And Gerrit, of course, did not know that she was not human.
Dunstan and Ladbroke did know who Lord Denno and Lady Alana really were because they had been mortal servants Underhill, but they could not speak their knowledge. Neither bribe nor torture could wring the information from them even though they were exceptions to the general rule that a human released from Underhill had his mind wiped of all memory of the place. Dunstan and Ladbroke had been allowed to keep their memories the better to assist Denoriel and Aleneil in protecting Henry FitzRoy. Instead, they had been deprived of the ability to speak of what they knew.
Gerrit grinned. "Oh, Tolliver's here. Not so much a starved boy anymore, m'lord. Real hafling, he is. Half in love with m'lady. Follows her like a puppy when she's out of the palace."
"Well, it cannot hurt to have a devoted and watchful eye on her," Denoriel said, frowning suddenly. "I know there is a true heir to the throne now, may he thrive and live long, but there might be those who wish her ill for . . . for reasons . . . best left unsaid."
"Yes, m'lord." Gerrit looked slightly startled and slightly concerned too. "Thank you, m'lord. I'll keep that in mind and warn the others."
"Good man." Denoriel nodded to him and rode through the gate into the courtyard where Aleneil was already dismounted and waiting for him.
Ladbroke was holding Ystwyth—carefully not touching the illusory rings of the bit. "Glad to see you home safe at last, m'lord," he said to Denoriel as he dismounted.
"And I am glad to see you here in Lady Elizabeth's service."
Ladbroke took hold of Miralys's halter, taking care not actually to put any pressure on it because he knew it would simply slip off the elvensteed's head. He bobbed a bow as he clucked to his charges and began to turn toward the stable. He stopped, uncertain of what Denoriel knew, and then decided to give him the basic information he might need.
"Lady Alana was good enough to recommend us to Lady Bryan, who was then governess, when several of the stablehands left because they didn't want to be in a disgraced household. And then the groom of the chamber was discovered to be lining his pockets in anticipation of being without a position so he was dismissed. Lady Elizabeth recognized Dunstan, too—"
Denoriel did his best not to goggle. "At three?"
"Lady Elizabeth is a . . . is unusual, m'lord."
At that moment Reeve Tolliver, who Denoriel remembered as a starved boy of twelve plucked from a workhouse, came to the door of the small stable and called that the stalls were ready. He was now a tall, broad-shouldered young man, still with an unruly shock of hair above a plain but pleasant face.
"I'll take these two in and settle them. You go take a look at the brown carriage horse's off fore. I was just about to do that when Lady Alana rode in."
"Not favoring it," Tolliver said, frowning slightly.
"No, but it looked swollen," Kip replied. "Maybe it was just the light, but it can't hurt to look."
And while he looked, Ladbroke would remove the bridles, which had no bits attached and were so loosely fastened that Miralys and Ystwyth could rid themselves of the head-furniture with a brisk shake. Denoriel smiled, lifted a hand, and followed Aleneil toward the entrance to the east wing of the palace where Dunstan was waiting, bowing correctly but grinning with obvious delight to see Denoriel.
A flick of the eyes showed that Dunstan had noticed the hair, now silver rather than blond, but all he said was, "If you will pardon me for saying so, m'lord, I am very glad indeed to see you here again, safe and sound after your long voyage."
Denoriel smiled. "You are certainly pardoned for saying you are glad to see me. I hope all is well with you, that you are satisfied with your new service."
"Very satisfied, m'lord." Dunstan's lip twitched. "It's a bit quieter than serving His Grace the duke of Richmond, but that's all to the good."
"Yes, indeed," Denoriel agreed, and then, lowering his voice, "but don't forget that it might get livelier at any time."
Concern showed in Dunstan's eyes, but he only bowed to Aleneil and gestured for them to follow, saying, "Mistress Champernowne is awaiting you in the presence chamber, so please you."
They passed through a large room, obviously serving as the great hall. There were trestle tables stacked along one wall, and a wide door led to a somewhat smaller but still large room, the general reception room. There two pages, a footman, and three young gentlemen (whom Denoriel did not recognize) lounged and made idle chatter. They all looked at Dunstan, but no one made any move to question his right to escort people through the Lady Elizabeth's apartment.
Then Denoriel realized that they all recognized Lady Alana. The footman bowed to her as did two of the gentlemen, but they all returned to their conversations only casting a curious glance or two at Denoriel. On his way out, Denoriel resolved, he would stop and talk to the gentlemen, and the pages too, if he could find a cause.
Past the large reception room, Dunstan gestured them into the presence chamber and closed the door behind them. He turned to Denoriel as if he were about to ask a question, but the door on the other side of the room opened and a young woman, likely in her early twenties, stepped through. She was smiling and holding out her hands, which Aleneil hurried forward to take.
"My dear Lady Alana—" Mistress Champernowne's voice was mild and sweet "—how delighted I was to receive your message two days ago. Your last letter had been so uncertain about when you would be able to come again that I was quite in despair."
"I am sorry for that, Mistress Champernowne, but you may blame my cousin . . . well, I call him cousin although it was by a long-ago marriage. A crusader uncle took . . . who was she to you, Lord Denno?"
"Great-grandmother, I think, although she might have been a great-great-grandmother. I am not certain and, as you know, I have no way of checking the church records any longer."
Aleneil put her hand on Denoriel's arm and patted it consolingly. "God's Grace, Denno, I am so sorry to have reminded you."
To insinuate himself into the ranks of the higher nobility of England wealth alone would not have been enough. Aleneil had tampered a little with the minds of two of King Henry's friends so that they "remembered" Lord Denno Siencyn Adjoran's story. He was now supposed to be a Hungarian nobleman, cousin to Hungary's king, and from a family grown very, very rich from trade. Lord Denno himself had been abroad on a trading mission when the Turks had overrun Hungary. In the disaster, his entire family had been killed. Their Hungarian lands had been confiscated, but there was no way for the Turks to lay hands upon the wide-spread trading empire his family had controlled. After some years of rootless wandering, Lord Denno Siencyn Adjoran had come to rest in England, a country he had found so much to his taste that he had made it his home.
Denoriel smiled and shook his head. "It is all very long ago now and not very painful, although sometimes I still grieve for my little brother Imre—he who gave me the iron cross. Or, perhaps the grief is really for my Harry—" he bowed to Katherine Champernowne "—beg pardon, I mean the late Duke of Richmond. But we were very close. I gave him the cross when—"
"An iron cross, plain black iron on an iron chain?" Mistress Champernowne asked eagerly.
"Yes, that is it." He nodded. "It is of no real material value though it meant a great deal to me. Because he was so like my little brother, I gave him the cross to protect him, and I suppose when Harry . . . when Harry was lost, the cross was lost also—"
"No, no, it wasn't." Mistress Champernowne smiled with genuine pleasure at being able to help someone. "Lady Elizabeth has it. She is absurdly attached to the thing and wears it constantly. But I am sure she would return it to you if you told her—"
He managed to look shocked, pleased, and embarrassed at the same time."No! Grace of God, no! I am utterly delighted to learn that the cross was not lost, but I am very eager to have Lady Elizabeth keep it and continue to wear it. Harry was devoted to her. It will be—will be as if some part of him is still watching over her."
"It is very plain and not very suitable to a highborn lady's dress," Mistress Champernowne said, clearly somewhat disappointed at not having a reason to wrest Elizabeth's unsuitable adornment from her.
"I am sure the duke of Richmond gave it to her because he believed she might need it. That cross was said to have been made from the nails of the True Cross or part of the blade of the lance that pierced Christ's side—" He shrugged. "—but I do not know that any of that is true. It was also said to be invested with holy protective spells. Imre gave it to me to keep me safe on what he believed was a dangerous voyage. Holy Mother help me! Perhaps if I had not taken it—I did not believe in it, you see; I took it only to cheer him because he feared for me." He allowed his expression to cloud, and his eyes to darken with feigned pain. "But mayhap—if I had not taken it, I would have drowned on that stupid voyage and he would have lived!"
"Denno!" Aleneil said sharply. "You could not know. Do not begin again to distress yourself over what was beyond your control. Your father sent you on that voyage; you did not ask to go. In fact, if I remember aright, you argued bitterly to stay in Hungary."
"Yes, I did." Denoriel cast a quick glance in Mistress Champernowne's direction and was satisfied with what he saw. The lady was highly impressed, and highly intrigued too. He found a rueful smile. "There was this young lady of whom my father did not approve." He sighed.
"That is a very sad tale," Mistress Champernowne said, sighing too. "But you now believe that the cross is a powerful relic? That it has protective powers?"
"I believe it, yes, but you know the old saw that God helps those who first help themselves. I believe the cross has power—perhaps no more than that it is God's symbol, but that is power also. And I desire with all my heart that Lady Elizabeth continue to wear it. Nonetheless, I would not walk down a dark alley without my sword just because I was wearing a holy relic. And you should not relax your vigilance for Lady Elizabeth's safety because she wears the cross."
"No, of course not." Mistress Champernowne shook her head and laughed lightly. "But who would wish to harm her? So sweet a child. So clever. All who meet her love her. Still, I understand better why she always wears the cross . . . only why did she not tell me of its power?"
"Likely because she does not know herself why she keeps wearing it," Aleneil said in Lady Alana's soft voice and smiling. "Is it not possible that Richmond gave it to her and explained that she must always wear it, that it would keep her safe from danger. She was only three. Doubtless all she remembers is that she must wear the cross, not why."
Mistress Champernowne frowned. "It is just as well that she does not remember too much about the happenings of that year. I suppose she has forgotten." But her voice was uncertain and she sighed. "At least she has stopped asking for Richmond."
"You did not tell her he . . . he had passed on?" Denoriel asked.
"I was not here then and cannot say what I would have done, but Lady Bryan felt there had been too much death around the poor child. She told my lady that Richmond had been sent away on a diplomatic mission and later that he was to live in foreign lands until Prince Edward was grown and acknowledged as the true heir. But as soon as she learned to write, she wished to send him a letter." Mistress Champernowne sighed again. "The devices I was put to to prevent it."
"Why prevent it?" Denoriel asked, thinking of the joy a letter from Elizabeth would bring to poor Harry.
"Well, I did not understand it myself and let her write a note. Fortunately I asked Lady Bryan what to do about it, and she explained to me that for a child whose mother had been executed and who had been declared illegitimate and out of the succession to write to the 'deposed' heir begging him to come back to England and take care of her might be . . . ah . . . misunderstood . . . and that I must discourage her from ever writing to Richmond again."
"The king—" Aleneil put her hand on Denoriel's arm "—is grown more and more suspicious as he grows older. He has a . . . a love-hate feeling for the child. As his daughter—so clearly his daughter with her pale skin and red hair and those long-fingered hands—he loves her, but as her mother's daughter he is suspicious of her, too ready to believe she might wish him ill, and perhaps even hates her."
Katherine Champernowne, who would not have spoken so clearly herself, nodded. "So do not mention Richmond, I beg you, even though you were his especial friend. I think she has forgotten . . . but she is very tenacious . . ."
A tap on the door heralded Dunstan and a servant carrying a tray with wine and cakes for refreshment. Mistress Champernowne nodded approval, said she would fetch Lady Elizabeth, and went back through the door through which she had come. Denoriel poured wine for himself and Aleneil.
"That was very clever," Aleneil murmured. "I didn't know you remembered that I told you Kat didn't like the cross. But there's no doubt she believed you. She's not stupid, you know, but she is very credulous. She'll stop trying to get Blanche to get rid of it. And, at worst, if she decides she can't stand Elizabeth wearing it, I'm sure she'll give it back to you."
Denoriel shuddered slightly, but before he could reply, the door opened again. Through it came a little girl, seven or eight years of age, slight-boned and slender. Her skin was very fair, her hair brilliantly red; in the dull interior light her eyes appeared to be dark. She began to come forward, a hand graciously extended to greet Aleneil and then hesitated for just a moment when she saw Denoriel.
Behind her was Mistress Champernowne and just behind her but well to the side so she could see the whole room was Blanche Parry, one hand raised to clasp the necklace of crosses that Denoriel knew lay under her chemise. Blanche remained in the doorway, watching, as Mistress Champernowne came forward.
"Lady Elizabeth, may I present to you Lord Denno, distant kin to Lady Alana, whom you know." Aleneil dropped a low curtsy and Mistress Champernowne continued. "Lord Denno has been away on a long voyage, but he says he knew you when you were little more than a babe and he wished to pay his respects now that he is back in England."
Denoriel bowed, sweeping off his hat. He saw Elizabeth look at the side of his head toward his crown and he swallowed nervously, wondering whether he had forgotten to mask his long, pointed ears with illusion. Then she transferred her gaze to his eyes. Nothing showed in her face, but Denoriel knew that she saw the long, oval pupils of a Sidhe rather than the round ones of a human. As an infant and a young child she had been able to see through illusion. Apparently she still could, but she gave no other sign than the quick movement of her eyes.
"I am very glad to see you again, Lord Denno," she said, with the gravity of a woman of forty. "I hope your voyage was profitable enough to make up for your long absence from those you knew and loved in England."
Denoriel's lips parted, but words stuck in his throat. What she had said was the sharp-honed rapier-prick of an angry woman—but she was only eight years old. Doubtless it was an innocent platitude. But he was thrown off balance and before he could think of a suitable answer Elizabeth had turned to Aleneil with an impish smile.
At first he thought she would advance on poor Aleneil, whose lips were already tight with discomfort from the iron cross, just to see her retreat or suffer more pain in silence. But although Elizabeth held out her hand, she moved no closer to Aleneil, only smiling with real warmth. Denoriel was a little surprised at the evidence of Aleneil's reaction because the cold iron of the cross Elizabeth wore had awakened no more than a distant, dull ache in his bones and he was actually closer to her than Aleneil was.
"Greetings, Lady Alana." Elizabeth barely touched Aleneil's fingers and then stepped back, almost to Denoriel's side, although she did not seem to notice that. "What do you think of my dress?" she asked.
It was in the height of fashion, children and adults wearing the same style—a rich light green brocade overgown with a low, square bodice edged in elegant, dark green embroidery. Above the bodice her chemise, high-necked and tied to form a ruffle, filled in the low décolletage of the gown, which was tightly fitted to the waist. The sleeves fitted the upper arm closely, then widened greatly and were turned back to show a gold velvet lining.
The skirt was split in front, opening into a broad V to expose the kirtle beneath. This was of the same gold velvet as the lining of the sleeves and was enlivened by the girdle of richly embroidered dark green satin, loosely tied at the groin and flowing down over the underskirt. On her head Elizabeth wore a dark green French hood, also lavishly embroidered, set well back to show her bright hair. Since her skirts swept the floor, he could not see her shoes.
Aleneil laughed aloud. "If the dress is your own doing, my lady, I would say that you no longer need me here giving you advice."
"Oh, no, I never meant that," Elizabeth said, looking distressed.
"Of course you didn't, my poppet," Mistress Champernowne said, putting an arm around the little girl's shoulders. "And Lady Alana didn't mean she wouldn't come to visit anymore. She was just complimenting you on your excellent taste. It is true, too. I had suggested a red kirtle, but Lady Elizabeth complained that it was too glaring and she was quite right. The gold goes better with her hair also."
"Yes, it does. But I never thought Lady Elizabeth would suspect me of giving up my visits. Indeed, I take too much pleasure in her company, and in yours, Mistress Champernowne, to stop coming. Nonetheless, we must stop chattering about dress. Nothing could be duller for poor Denno, who looks respectable only because he allows his man to chose his clothing."
"I am not so bad as that," Denoriel protested, smiling. "But it is true enough that clothing does not hold much interest for me. Still, I can tell when a dress is becoming, and Lady Elizabeth's dress is very becoming indeed."
It was a proper response, but the smile that Denoriel produced to go with it was patently artificial. Kat Champernowne might not be the most perceptive person, but she had adequate skill to recognize a polite falsehood.
"And so it is," she said, "but I doubt we can find more meat in that subject. I understand from Lady Alana that you are devoted to gardens, Lord Denno. Since the day is so mild, perhaps you would be willing to accompany Lady Elizabeth into our garden. We are just about to begin spring planting, and Elizabeth and I do not agree on what should be done. You must have seen a great many gardens, some in distant lands. We would welcome your opinion."
Denoriel gave a prompt, relieved approval. Walking in the garden might provide an opportunity for him to talk in a less formal way with Elizabeth. There was a brief, less strained, period while Dunstan returned the cloaks he had taken when he led Denoriel and Aleneil into Elizabeth's quarters and instructed servants to bring cloaks for Mistress Champernowne and Elizabeth. When they passed into the great hall and thence through a side door into the rather barren garden, they had sorted themselves out into two couples, suitable to the rather narrow paths between the fallow beds.
As soon as there was a distance between them and Kat Champernowne beside whom Aleneil was deliberately walking with tiny, mincing steps, Elizabeth looked up and said, "Should I put my cross into its pouch so you could take my hand?"
"God's Grace, no!" Denoriel exclaimed. "No, you must never cover your cross or take it off. And if someone should ever ask that of you, run away. Run away quickly to Blanche Parry or if you cannot reach her to Dunstan or Ladbroke or your guardsmen."
"Ah." The stiffness in Elizabeth's shoulders relaxed and when she glanced up again, her eyes no longer looked dark. In the bright daylight they were like molten gold. She sniffed slightly in a pretense of hurt, and said, "You do not wish to hold my hand?" Then the eyes darkened to dull brown again. "You used to hold his hand."
His. The emphasis made certain it could only be Harry she meant, even though her governess had said she believed the child had forgotten her half-brother. She had been only three when Harry went Underhill and at that time he was almost a man and he and Denoriel no longer held hands. Could what she said refer to tales Harry had told her about his own childhood? How could she remember anything like that?
She was staring up at him . . . challenging? "I am one of those that cold iron touches only lightly," Denoriel said, wondering if he were mad to say so much to a girl-child of eight years. But surely the remark would be meaningless to anyone to whom she repeated it. "So, if you will do me the honor of permitting it, I will gladly hold your hand."
He held out his own and she grasped it and squeezed it, pulling on it so that Denoriel bent closer to her. But it was not affection she wanted.
"Where is my Da?" she hissed.
Denoriel blinked, swallowed. Elizabeth had always called Henry Fitzroy her Da. It had been explained to her more than once that he was not her father but her half-brother. Her father was King Henry VIII. Even at two she had had the ability to look down her nose at adults far taller than she was in a kind of exasperated contempt. "Of course," she had said all those years ago. "King Henry VIII is my father, but he" —pointing at Harry— "he's my Da."
Denoriel swallowed again, snapped back to the present by an impatient tug on his hand and the repeated, intense, if low-voiced "Where is my Da?"
"Far away," Denoriel said, keeping his voice so soft it would not carry even on a vagrant wind to those behind. "You know that. You know he was sent away after your father married Queen Jane and there was a hope of healthy male issue."
"Sent away." Elizabeth's tone was so flat that Denoriel squeezed the hand he held comfortingly.
"It was not cruelty on the king's part," he assured her. "To travel to strange places was always what Harry wanted. When he was a little boy he used to beg me to take him with me on my voyages. He wanted to be a merchant so he could travel."
She turned her head away and bit her lips. "He is dead," she whispered. "Why do you lie to me? I hate lies."
"Child," Denoriel murmured. "I do not lie. He is not dead. I swear it. But he is very far away."
"Then why does he not write to me? Why cannot I write to him?"
"That would be dangerous, Lady Elizabeth, and you know it. If your letter fell into the wrong hands it could be made to sound as if you preferred Richmond to Prince Edward, as if you might be conspiring to commit treason. Harry is over twenty now, a fine man. Your brother Edward is hardly more than a babe, still subject to many threats to his health. For you to urge Harry to return to England . . ."
"But if I just asked about his health, told him about my lessons and that I still remembered him and loved him. What could be wrong in that?"
Denoriel bit his lips. The wrong might be in wakening in Harry a longing for the mortal world to which he could never return. And yet Harry loved Underhill, loved Mwynwen; the one thing that made him discontented in Underhill was his concern for Elizabeth. Why should he not receive a letter from her?
"Let me think," Denoriel muttered.
It would not be a rapid correspondence. He could say it would take two to three months for the letter to go to Harry and the same time for his reply to return. There could not be much danger to Elizabeth in writing two letters a year.
"There is the problem of how to send such a letter," he continued. "You know your governess has been forbidden to allow you to write—"
"She will not know," Elizabeth interrupted sharply. "I write all the time, lessons, letters, copies of sermons and hymns and poems. Unless I ask her to look at my work, she allows me to practice in privacy."
"Excellent, only that was not what I meant. The letter cannot be sent as yours usually are, by the king's messengers and—"
"I may be a little girl but I am not an idiot," Elizabeth interrupted again. "If I knew how to send a letter or where to send it, do you think I would not have done so?"
Denoriel had to laugh. This was no sweet child who first desired to be good and obedient. This was a young devil who first desired to have her own way. She was looking up at him again, and her eyes were lion-yellow, almost glowing from within.
"I suppose you would have. That you had been forbidden would not have troubled you, would it? But, Lady Elizabeth, the prohibition was for your own protection, not a whim of your governess."
There was a silence in which her face froze into a pale mask. Denoriel felt a pang of remorse when he saw how stricken she was. She believed, alas, that the only danger that could threaten her came from her own father, and that King Henry should not trust her was almost more than she could bear. Still, Denoriel did not dare explain that there were others who wished her ill.
Finally she said, "Then why are we talking about this?"
Perhaps it was unwise to reawaken Harry's strong feelings for Elizabeth . . . no, that was silly; Harry felt just as strongly about the child as he had when he was with her. More important, Denoriel was reasonably certain there could be no earthly repercussions, since her letter would come directly to him. There was no chance anyone else would see it and he ached for the child's loneliness and longing.
"We are talking about this because I know where your 'Da' is," he said, "and I can send him a letter from you."
The eyes raised to his were wide and bright with hope. "And will you?" she breathed.
"Of course." Denoriel chuckled. "I am not an idiot either. Would I have said I knew where he was if I did not intend to serve as your messenger? But it will not be quick, my lady. Richmond really is far away and my trading ships do not sail direct from here to there as the king's ships do on his command. It will be some months before Richmond receives your letter, and more months before his reply can come back to you."
"And you hope I will forget." A slow smile curved her thin but well-shaped mouth. "I never forget anything."
He looked deeply into her eyes, and what he saw there brought the fervent ring of truth into his answer. "No, my lady, I do not believe that you will forget. I do not believe that you will ever forget anything that you have willed yourself to remember."
She held his eyes with that strange, too-wise gaze. "Good," she said.