The Tudor Conspiracy by C. W. Gortner Read Free Book Online

reached down. A warm lick on my hand and a soft muzzle told me Elizabeth’s treasured greyhound, Urian, whom she had brought with her from Hatfield, was here. I eased my foot out from under the coarse blanket covering me and nudged Peregrine, who was, as I suspected, curled in his cloak on a reed mat on the floor.
    “You’ll catch your death of cold down there! And you took your time getting here.”
    “I found Urian, didn’t I?” he asked. “I also befriended a groom who told me the princess goes riding in the mornings with her friend. I didn’t know she had friends here.”
    I was suddenly wide awake. “Neither did I. Did this groom say who her friend was?”
    “Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. Apparently he’s her cousin.”
    “Did he say anything else?” I could barely restrain the impulse to bombard him with questions, recalling what Cecil had told me about Courtenay. I concentrated on breathing deep, pretending I was starting to fall back asleep before I muttered, “She’s going to notice her dog is missing.”
    “That would be the point. Urian would only go with someone he trusts.”
    I smiled, crossing my arms behind my head as Elizabeth’s hound settled between my legs. Peregrine’s breathing deepened. The boy could sleep anywhere.
    I now had confirmation of her association with Courtenay, whatever it was, and it didn’t bode well, not if Renard was targeting them. Then I thought of the dead dog tossed into the queen’s chapel, a placard denouncing Catholics knotted about its neck.
    What perilous path did Elizabeth tread?

WHITEHALL

Chapter Four
    I woke before dawn. As I hastily washed my face in the basin, after breaking a film of ice on the water, Peregrine lurched to his feet and insisted on attending me, staggering out the door with his hair askew and jug in hand to fetch fresh wash water.
    He poured the jug over my head while I stood in the lumpy basin, the water so cold I was barely able to move my arms to wash myself. “You must find us a brazier, charcoal burner, anything, so long as it holds fire,” I told him through chattering teeth. “I can’t bathe like this every morning. I’ll catch my death of cold!”
    “Yes, master,” he said, then ducked as I swiped at him with my hose. I dressed more quickly than I’d ever done in my life, not caring that I was still damp. As I stashed my poniard in my boot, Urian whined and scratched at the door.
    “He needs to go out,” said Peregrine, who clearly had no intention of repeating my bathing experience, though he’d slept in his clothes and looked a rumpled mess.
    “Fine, take him out,” I said. “While you’re at it, see to our horses. I want them well fed and kept warm. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can. I want to catch a look at this Courtenay. Oh, and if you see Her Grace before I do, try to detain her, but don’t let anyone else see that you actually know each other.”
    “I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” Peregrine quipped, and, clipping a lead to Urian’s red leather collar, he left.
    I pushed my sword in its scabbard under the bed. Bearing weapons at court, at least visibly, was forbidden. Then I looked about for somewhere to hide my bag. I didn’t have anything that could incriminate me except for a book Cecil and I had agreed to employ as a cipher in case I had need of it. I’d rather not leave it out in plain sight. None of the floorboards proved loose enough to pry up. I’d settled on stuffing the bag in the coffer when a knock came at the door. I found Rochester on the threshold, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
    “Good morrow to you, Master Beecham. I trust you’re well rested.” He paused, scrutinizing me. “Are you ready?”
    “Ready?” I echoed.
    “Yes. Her Majesty has agreed to see you this morning. In fact, she insists on it.”
    * * *
    Snow drifted outside the gallery windows, turning the courtyards into white-cushioned jewel boxes. Inside the palace, the chill was pervasive, despite the