Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabe
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nodded. ‘I do know how it feels. I had to make such choices myself, in my youth, and I watched the lady I loved have a better life for it. Lady Alys will be well, I promise you.’
Lady Alys would be well. John nodded, but he could not answer. His throat was tight with all the feelings his heart dared not admit.
‘Now, we must be going,’ Matthew said briskly. He re-tied his cloak and turned for the door.
John quickly gathered up his few possessions. He knew well that this was for the best, that it was necessary, but still he felt he had to say farewell to Alys in some way, to let her know she would never be forgotten by him. As he piled his shirts into a bundle, he saw the block of wood he had been carving to pass the hours, an almost completed angel with delicate wings and a soft smile. He had thought of Alys as he carved it, for he would always think of her as his angel.
As Matthew put out the fire, John carefully placed the angel where Alys would find her. He hoped she saw the message of it. The dying light of the flames caught on the ring he always wore, the ring carved with arms of his mother’s families, and impulsively he tugged it off his finger and left it caught on the tip of the angel’s wing. The ring had helped keep him safe on his travels; now he hoped it would do the same for Alys.
As he closed the door behind him, John paused for one glance back. He had never been sorry to leave a place before. Temporary lodgings in Antwerp or Paris or Lisbon never felt like home and he was always glad to see the last of them, to go on to the next adventure. But this place, this makeshift dairy chamber...
He knew he would always remember it. The sweetness he had known for those few moments with Alys, the forgetfulness he found in her kiss, the laughter, he had never known such things before. He hoped with all he had that somehow she would know the great gift she had given him, that she would remember him for the man he wished he could be, not the wandering deceiver he was.
But Matthew was right. Alys was too good for the life he led, the man he had to be. She had been a gift to him, one he had to let go of now for her own happiness.
He followed Matthew to the cliff steps. He glimpsed a ship below, a small, sleek pinnace riding the waves, waiting to shoot out of the bay and into the sea beyond. He glanced back at the castle and saw a few lights at the windows, pinpricks in the pre-dawn gloom. And beyond...
In the sky beyond there was a strange, pinkish glow. A suspicious light.
Matthew looked back as if to see that John still followed and his expression shifted as he, too, glimpsed the glow in the sky. His mouth hardened.
‘Not everyone here, it seems, is as loyal as William Drury and his daughter,’ Matthew said.
John remembered Bingham, the killing in the name of the Queen. He remembered other towns in the Low Countries and Portugal, burned for harbouring fugitives, for keeping secrets. ‘What have you done here?’
‘What you yourself have done many times, John. What we all must do to keep Queen Elizabeth safe. That village was disloyal. Now, we must go or we shall miss the tide.’
John turned to run back to the castle, to shout the warnings, but Matthew seized his arm in a hard grasp. ‘Remember your vows, your work, John. If you do not leave with me now, it shall go worse for everyone here. If it is thought Lady Alys helped a suspected Spanish spy, what will happen to her? Come now. The Queen is waiting.’
John stared at his godfather for a long moment and in those cold grey eyes he saw his own soul, his own past. His own future. It was a bleak one, but it was the one he had chosen. He had to protect Alys now by leaving her behind. He nodded and followed Matthew to the ship, not looking back again.
Alys awoke to complete chaos.
At first she thought it was merely part of her dreams, which had been tumultuous for many nights, filled with stormy seas and falling skies. Shouts and the pounding of racing feet only seemed to be a part of that. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over her head and waiting for it to be quiet again.
But the noise only grew louder, maids sobbing in the corridor, men’s loud voices from the courtyard below her window, bells ringing from the chapel. Suddenly, Alys realised it was not a dream at all. Peace had not yet returned to Dunboyton.
She thought of Juan, hidden at the abbey, and she sat straight up in bed. Had he been discovered? Was he being dragged to Bingham even now? Cold fear raced through her.
She jumped to the floor and wrapped her bed robe around her shoulders as she ran to the window. It was still night, but surely near dawn, for the darkness was touched at the horizon with a faint glow. The courtyard below was crowded with her father’s men, many of them just fastening their jerkins and pulling on cloaks as if they had been hastily summoned from their beds. She couldn’t see any organisation to their racings and shouts, though.
She had to find Juan.
She hastily pulled on her gown, a simple woollen house dress she could lace herself, with no sleeves. She stuffed her feet into her boots and hurried into the corridor. She saw servants running towards the stairs and some coming up them, but could make no sense to it.
She glimpsed Molly from the laundry and grabbed the girl’s arm as she dashed past. ‘Molly! What is happening?’
The girl turned her freckled, tearstained face towards Alys. ‘Oh, my lady! They say the village has been set afire. We’re being attacked!’
Alys stared at her in shock. ‘The village? Have Bingham’s men returned?’
‘I don’t know, my lady. Maybe it’s the Spanish! They’ve come to kill us in our beds after all!’
Alys thought again of Juan and hoped he stayed where he was in the dairy. ‘Where is my father? Or his guest, Sir Matthew Morgan?’
‘I haven’t seen Sir Matthew. Sir William is in the courtyard.’ Her sobs broke out again and she covered her face with her apron.
Alys gave her a little shake. She almost wanted to start crying in confusion herself, but there was not time to be wasted thus. She had to keep her wits about her if she was to find out what was happening. ‘Go gather some supplies to take into the village, then. No matter what, there are people who will need food and blankets come morning. I will find my father.’
As Alys hurried to the stairs, she remembered the strange feeling Sir Matthew had given her, as if he watched everything around him too carefully, especially her. Could he be a spy of some sort, his visit to Dunboyton a cover for something? She made her way up the stairs to his chamber and knocked on the door. There was no reply, no sound at all, and when she peeked inside she found it was empty. All his possessions were gone.
Panicked now in truth, she ran out to the courtyard and found her father just as he was swinging into his saddle. He wore chainmail beneath his cloak and his face was taut and grey in the torchlight.
‘Father!’ she called out. She dashed past the other horsemen and foot soldiers, grasping his stirrup. ‘What is happening?’
He gave her a grim smile. ‘I fear the village has been set alight, but no one seems to know why. There are rumours they were hiding Spanish spies.’
Juan. Had he been found? ‘Is it Bingham again? What has he found exactly?’
‘I don’t know yet, but I am riding out now to find out. You must stay here, bar the doors until I return.’
‘Sir Matthew has gone.’
Her father nodded grimly. ‘Aye, I thought as much. He has his work to do, just as we do. I must go now, Alys. Do as I say!’
Her father spurred his horse onward and Alys watched as his men followed him out of the castle. The gates to the courtyard swung shut behind them. She knew she had to hurry.
She