The Virgin's War (26 page)

In this week of surprises, Dominic delivered one more—he laughed softly. “Do you ever wonder if this war would have to be fought if only William had lived?”

It was the first time in almost thirty years that she had heard Dominic speak her brother's name. She would not show how it moved her. “Perhaps not this war. But we both know that is solely because there would have been more wars fought more frequently. I have not been a perfect ruler—I do not believe there is such a creature. But I believe—I have to believe—that I have done as well as any ruler could have with the circumstances I was given.”

There were occasions—few and far between—when someone looked at Elizabeth as though they really saw her. Not her crown, not her throne, not the trappings of power…herself alone. Elizabeth Tudor. Minuette was the most frequent, and sometimes both Burghley and Walsingham achieved it. But to see that look from Dominic—a man whom she both liked and respected, a man who in his last extremity had clung to loyalty as a lifeline, a man who did not lightly offer affection or praise—made her feel like the girl she had not been for decades.

“You will not die, Elizabeth,” he told her. “Nor will England fall. Not while I have breath in my body to defend both, I swear it.”

His promise was almost as encouraging as the two hundred ships guarding England's shores.

Once Pippa and Matthew returned to Middleham, the council met to discuss their reports of military readiness and apparent Northern ignorance of any attempt to free Mary Stuart in Scotland. In private, they passed on the news of Lord Scrope's shrewd guesses about Anabel's true intentions as well as his promise of armed support.

Kit watched Anabel, knowing the relief behind her serene acceptance of that fact. “It is time to see for myself the readiness of what standing forces we have along the border. There have been several lightning raids along the south coast, but it is the Duke of Parma who worries me. It is his army in the Netherlands that will embark in those Spanish ships now preparing to sail—and with Calais retaken by France, Spain has another easy port near Parma. And while our navy is protecting the English Channel, what of the missing ships from Ireland? There are twenty unaccounted for. What if they sailed north from Ireland?”

“To come directly at Scotland? No.” Hatton answered his own question. “You're not afraid of them hitting Scotland—you think those ships are sailing
around
Scotland to come at us from the north. Where the English navy most conveniently is not.”

“It's how Mary Stuart was smuggled out of Scotland when she was a child,” Anabel reminded him. “With ships heading in the other direction, but still. We know the waters north of Scotland can be navigated. What are the chances that the missing Spanish ships are bringing troops to land at Berwick or Newcastle or even Hull?”

Kit broke in. “I suppose this is why you want a tour of the coast and the East March. You consider them most vulnerable.”

“Even discounting the missing ships out of Ireland, the Duke of Parma could conceivably scrape together enough ships to carry part of his army from Flanders. Not enough to oppose the full force of England's navy in the most direct crossing—but what if he decides to gamble on finding open water north and launches against us?”

That possibility hung in the air with a weight no one could shake. Kit could have sworn he felt the threat of Parma's troops beating inside his chest. And the danger of it all was that, in trying to be prepared for every possibility, they could end up unprepared for whatever actually happened.

As Anabel gave her household orders, preparatory to departing on their tour of defenses, Kit pulled Matthew aside. “How is Pippa?”

“Can you not tell?”

Kit grimaced. “I was hoping you would tell me different.” His brother-in-law simply looked at him, and Kit sighed. “I know. Sorry.”

Matthew offered only this: “If you want to know more than you can already feel or guess, you'll have to ask her.”

But that was a conversation Kit shied away from. He knew Pippa was not well. He could feel the faint drag of illness in himself and knew it was his twin, trying hard to shield him from the worst but not entirely able to hide. What worried Kit was what else she might be hiding more successfully.

Once Pippa would have sought Kit out, either to reassure or, more likely, scold him into focusing on his own life. But she stayed with Anabel for several hours after the council broke up and then went straight to bed. Kit had not the heart to disturb her, so he left a note before he left with Anabel the next morning.

Pippa

The success of this war does not depend solely on you. Quit behaving as though it does. You will do Anabel no good if you are too sick to get out of bed. And I'm sure Matthew prefers to have you on your feet. I expect to see you rested and returned to full sarcasm on my return.

Kit

Despite his personal worries and the stress of looming war, Kit enjoyed traveling with Anabel. The princess was cheered resoundingly wherever they went, from town to tiny village, and she took care to spend hours meeting personally with as many people as could be managed. They moved from Middleham down to York, where the city leaders had already taken a distinct liking for Anabel herself as well as a healthy respect for her leadership skills. She had skillfully led the Council of the North, either in person or in correspondence, and was now reaping its benefits.

From York they went farther south, to the port of Kingston upon Hull, where they heard intelligence reports from the Netherlands. The Duke of Parma, who had led Spain's armies against the Flemish for the last seven years, was charged with assembling the land forces needed for an English invasion. There had been some discussion in London, Kit knew, about trying to disrupt Parma with the forces they had supporting the Flemish rebels, but that was scotched in favour of using what time and money they possessed in preparing England itself. The most encouraging aspect of the current intelligence reports was that Parma was irritated about having to feed an army that was doing nothing much at the moment but eating and waiting.

After Hull, Kit led the royal train along the coastline heading north. They called at every town and estate of even minor significance along the way. Just weeks behind Pippa's journey, Kit could see the value of his sister's work every day. Even the wariest Catholics who had most cause to dislike London—such as those families with ties to the Pilgrimage of Grace fifty years before—had been softened by Pippa's attentions and Anabel's concessions. Northerners might be suspicious and wary, but they were also highly practical. The fact that the princess had two Catholics on her council went a long way in assuring the disaffected that she, at the very least, would listen to them.

At Newcastle, the primary northern fortress of England, they stayed five days. Anabel, as president of the Council of the North, spent two days hearing cases and dispensing justice. The position had long been held by members of the royal family—often the direct heir to the throne—but she was the first woman to do so, and Kit knew it weighed on her. But she let the strain show only in flashes, and only in private.

Then it was on to Berwick, that northernmost English town that had changed hands with Scotland more times than could be counted. There they were met by the Warden of the East March, Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon. First cousin to Queen Elizabeth through their mothers, Hunsdon had long been a stalwart military support to the queen. He had come to Berwick almost twenty years ago as governor, and was instrumental in squashing the Rising of the North soon after. He had continued to rise from position to position, as much by his successes as by his blood, and spent much of his time now down south.

But with the Spanish threat, he had been named Captain General of the Queen's Forces in the North, and thus, in important ways, he was Kit's superior officer.

Hunsdon received Anabel fondly. In his late fifties, he had the long, narrow Boleyn face of his cousin and the erect and vigorous air of a lifetime soldier. With the princess, he walked the precise line between the personal and the professional. And when she assured him, with only Kit and Hunsdon's second in command in attendance, that their hopes were to lure Spain into sending a portion of their fleet against the North, he was quick to grasp why.

“A tactic your grandmother might well have conceived,” he said admiringly. He had been Anne Boleyn's ward for much of his childhood and it was his aunt who had provided him the education that launched his career. “Do you think you have sufficiently misled the Spanish into believing you will do nothing to actively hinder their armies?”

“One can never say for certain,” Anabel answered. “It is to be hoped that this visit is being viewed as my attempt to discover which men can be trusted and which would need to be removed. I need hardly say that you are considered by the Spanish the chief obstacle to any devious plan of mine against my mother.”

“I am honoured,” he answered drily.

From Berwick, she had been invited by King James to cross the border and meet with him a little west at Melrose. In the event, she once again refused to cross the border. She phrased it kindly enough—
I will come to Scotland as a bride comes to her husband
—but Kit knew how it would rankle with James.

It did not keep the Scottish king from coming to Berwick himself.

James Stuart arrived at Berwick under apparent cover of disguise. It was one of those convenient fictions—everyone knew who he was, but they all agreed to pretend not to, outside the castle, in order to avoid both formalities and hostilities. The king did not come unattended. With him were Alexander Home, Warden of Scotland's East March, and also, as Kit had hoped, Stephen Courtenay and several of his officers from the St. Adrian's company.

Excluded from the official meetings, Kit and Stephen were meant to discuss the unofficial matters. They took to the castle ramparts high above in order to do so in private. From there they had a spectacular view of the town, protected by its own recently built ramparts. The ingenious construction used earth to back the stone walls, allowing for greater absorption of artillery fire. Berwick Castle itself sat outside the ramparts, connected to the town by a bridge that led to a gated entrance. The air was still and heavy with moisture, and sharp enough even in the summer to necessitate cloaks.

“Is James going to offer Anabel any help?” Kit asked bluntly.

“I don't know. You don't suppose he fully trusts me, do you? I'm English. Just as King James is courting Anabel to protect his own interests, he's courting me because Maisie owns St. Adrian's. He wants her company.”

“Will he get it?”

“That is up to her.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “You two don't talk?”

With a perfectly straight face, his brother replied, “I have better things to do with my wife than talk about war. I'm sure you can imagine.”

“I think I prefer not to.” Kit choked back a laugh. Now that he looked closely, his normally straitlaced, disciplined older brother had a look of unusual mischief in his eyes. So Pippa had been right—Stephen had married for love. Not that his twin would be surprised by that. She was always faintly offended when others were astonished at her being right.

Kit cleared his throat. “Your happiness aside, it is a matter of some concern to both the queen and Anabel that England secure the use of St. Adrian's this year.”

“I do have some tactical reasoning left to me. You know that, St. Adrian's or not, the queen has asked me to return to England to take a command. I have agreed.”

“Good. You're needed.” It was a long time now since Kit had thought every compliment given to his brother was necessarily a criticism of himself. “And your wife? This wife you enjoy so much you have no time to talk—why did she not come to Berwick with you? I would think King James would give her anything she wanted in order to secure that company.”

A faint smile touched Stephen's lips. “He would also stretch the law in order to get his hands on it. Bad enough that our marriage meant she kept hold of the Sinclair business. He does not like the thought of a young woman also having a significant military company at her command. So…” He trailed off invitingly.

“You're really going to make me ask?” Kit aimed a light cuff at Stephen's head.

His brother deflected it. “And so, as we speak, Maisie is taking St. Adrian's across the border to Carlisle and offering the company's expertise in the coming war to the Queen of England. Once back in Scotland, I shall give King James my resignation as Warden of the Scottish West March. I don't imagine he'll object when he knows what I have done.”

Kit whistled, softly, to ensure they drew no attention from any distant guards. “Clever. Is she not afraid James will sequester her business in retaliation?”

“He can't do that publicly without making an enemy of England. He may not want to commit to war with Spain, but he very much wants to marry the Princess of Wales. There is only so far he can go in opposing someone who is now a member of the Courtenay family. Also, Maisie is more clever than even people think her. She has already taken steps to diversify control of the company beyond Edinburgh. And half her board members have left Scotland in the last month to direct affairs from London and Paris.”

“And you will command this company?”

“Wherever my wife and the queen wish me. I suspect that will be in the North, will it not?”

“If James is not mustering troops, then most definitely you will be needed in the North. You know that Anabel is trying to draw Philip's forces here first.”

“Yes. And I didn't say James would not muster troops. But he also will not commit to their use unless he is absolutely forced to. He is using his mother as a safeguard, hoping Philip wants Mary back enough to not want her executed by Scotland in retaliation.”