A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

>They had little time for Jack and the girl he was travelling with and barred them both access to the manor. Informing Jack curtly that the manor was empty, it had been overrun during the recent troubles and everyone had been slain, even the lady and her daughter. The master, Peter de Bernay, had died in a run-in with Northumberland’s troops as he fought to put Mary on the throne. They told Jack that he if wanted to wait until the steward came, he could, but he wasn’t expected for another few weeks, and Jack would need to find lodgings in the village.

Jack knew he couldn’t leave her there. He was going to London: he was going to talk to Richard and the unwanted burden joggling beside him was his brother’s problem as well. He would just have to take her with him.

 

†

 

It was two hours later when Jack was dragged back from his brooding thoughts by the sound of the girl’s voice.

“Stop. Stop please…” Catherine wailed.

Jack looked over at her. She looked cold, wet, uncomfortable and her eyes were red and swollen with crying. Jack felt an immediate attack of guilt, he wasn’t being fair to the poor girl. She’d not long since found out that her father had died and he’d spared her little thought. Jack knew he was better than that.

Dropping the reins into his right hand he pressed his horse closer to hers. “Here, give me your reins.” Both horses had slowed and Jack took the leather and tied a knot in the straps, keeping them short around the horse’s neck, then he produced a lead line and clipped it to the bridle of her horse. “I’ll lead her now, you tuck your hands inside your cloak, they look blue with cold.”

Catherine wiped the back of her hand across her wet nose before pulling the thick cloak tightly around herself and tucking her frozen hands under her arms.

“We’ll stop when we find somewhere. It won’t be long, there’s smoke rising above the trees over there. If we are lucky the village won’t be far ahead us.” Jack smiled, and the horses set off again at a steadier pace

 

†

 

Catherine slammed the door of the room they had rented for the night and turned on her companion. “What are you doing? You have no idea where you are going to take me – have you – no idea at all? We should have stopped at Assingham; it would have only taken a small while to sort things out.”

Jack looked at her sadly. “Please, Catherine, I couldn’t leave you at Assingham. They believe that you are dead, nothing I said was going to persuade them that this was not the case. Come and sit down over here.” He patted the seat in the snug near the fireplace. “I’ll light a fire, we’ll have something to eat, and I will try to put your mind at rest.” Jack busied himself building a fire while Catherine stalked moodily around the room.

It was typical of most inn accommodations. It had a low ceiling and a floor that meandered from the horizontal with a mind of its own, a bed and no other furniture, but it did have the luxury of a fire in one corner.

Catherine sat on the edge of the bed in the rapidly chilling room and watched Jack as he laboured with flint and steel.

“Who are you? I saw you when you were at Hazeldene, and then when Edward’s horses were brought over, do you work for Edward Byrne?”

Jack didn’t immediately reply, he wasn’t entirely sure what he should say to her.

“I know you helped me from the stables that night, but I can remember so little, it’s only after I got to the Abbey that my memory seems to return,” Catherine said, her voice shaking.

“I’m not surprised, sometimes it’s better to not remember.” Jack spoke with his back to her as he fed the dried kindling to the eager flames.

“Will you tell me please, sir. Who are you and where are you taking me?”

Jack was saved from having to answer when there was a knock at the door. He looked sternly across the room at Catherine and gestured for her to remain seated while he collected the tray of food that had been delivered.

Kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot, he turned back with the tray, “Come and join me by the fire and have some wine and food.” He knew Catherine must be hungry; neither of them had eaten all day. Stepping over to Catherine, he lowered the tray so she her eyes could see the steaming bowls of food, hoping to tempt her. “Please come and have something to eat with me. Let’s call a truce.” He smiled and Catherine involuntarily found herself smiling back.

They ate in silence, both of them hungry, and the bowls that had held a simple pottage were soon emptied, only crumbs where the warm coarse bread had been.

Jack pushed the tray away and poured two good measures of wine from the jug, holding one of the brown earthenware cups out to Catherine. “Feel better?” he enquired, settling down on the floor in front of the fire, using his cloak as a pillow. It was a planned move. Catherine had the seat and sat over him; the reverse seating arrangements might have intimidated the girl further.

“Yes, thank you,” Catherine said. “I didn’t realise I was so hungry.”

“I always know when I’m hungry, it’s a curse.” Jack raised his head and emptied half the cup of wine before looking Catherine in the eyes. “Please trust me. While you are with me, no harm will come to you. I will look after you,” he assured her. “I will take you to London and Richard will help you, I promise.”

Catherine jerked her hand back as if she’d been burnt.

“Richard? Not Edward’s cousin?” There was terror in her eyes. After that, the conversation was loud and short. It ended when Jack left the room slamming the door behind him.

It’s not my bloody fault, is it?

No. If anyone was to blame for the lady’s current situation it was probably his brother. Hands on the balustrade, Jack’s eyes roamed the common room of the inn below; it was several minutes before he realised where his eyes had come to rest. His mouth twitched into a smile. The girl, sensing the gaze from above, smiled invitingly up at him. Pulling her shoulders back, her breasts, only partly cupped within her bodice, added to the invitation which played across her face.

Jack was busy when Catherine, her temper cooled, went in search of her escort. She found him in the inglenook, buried beneath a woman who was sat astride him, skirts round her waist and bodice unlaced and falling on its way to meet them. Catherine watched, her mouth hard. If Jack saw her, he gave no sign. Turning, she stomped heavily on the boards and returned to the room.

Jack did not knock when he returned. He threw his doublet onto the bed. His shirt was untied, the neck wide and hanging lopsided, exposing a shoulder. “You wanted me, my lady?” Jack’s words bore an edge of inebriation.

“You’re drunk! Get out! Get out!” Catherine yelled, but Jack did not obey. He was tired, and this room was warm with a fire still lit in the hearth.

Catherine slept, fully dressed, on the bed, while Jack sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire.

Jack, his head pillowed on his arm, woke as soon as he heard the creak from the bed. The dieing fire cast a poor light across the room, but it was enough for him to see the girl. As he watched she swung her feet to the floor and began to move quietly to the end of the bed. There was a small bag of her possessions on the floor and she leant over to silently pick it up. Jack groaned inwardly, he was going to have to get up and stop her from leaving. His palms flat on the floor he pushed himself up and moved to block her exit.

Catherine had her back to him, collecting her cloak from where it lay over a chair back. A moment later, her eyes in the direction of where she thought the sleeping man lay, she advanced towards the door and walked straight into him.

“Where are you going,” Jack said.

Catherine, shocked, dropped her bag.

“You’ve nowhere to go, Catherine, please,” Jack reasoned.

“Let me go! Get out of my way. I don’t want to stop with you.”

She tried to push past him, but a firm hold prevented her, not finished she kicked out wildly in the dark. The first one missed his body and she nearly fell but the second one connected, drawing an exclamation. Spurred on by this success, she persisted. Jack received three good kicks before he decided that enough was enough.

“Stop it or you will force me to… Ah!” Kick number four was enough. If she made any more bloody noise the whole inn would be awake. Releasing one wrist, he hit her on the side of the temple—not hard—but enough, he judged, to stop her. The blow connected and Catherine reeled from the impact. Jack still held one wrist and caught her before she hit the floor. Stunned by the blow, her body sagged against him. Picking her up, Jack dropped her none too gently on the bed. It creaked ominously at the impact. Seating himself on the edge, he examined one shin, which still stung with the force of her kicks. Jack’s eyebrows raised; the bitch had drawn blood. He had tried to help, and if this was the thanks he got, well damn her to hell. The girl on the bed groaned… Jack smiled evilly.

I hope your head hurts in the morning, lass.

A partial truce was called the following morning. Jack was too good-humoured for her to continue to be angry with him.

“Look,” Jack showed her the cut on his leg. “You’re a bloody vixen, woman.” At that she had grinned, and the remainder of the journey was easier.

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

†

 

Alice knocked gently on the door and then admitted herself to Kate’s presence after an appropriate interval. “Yes, what is it, Alice?” Kate said without looking up from the needlework on her knee.

“There is a man in the kitchen, madam. He says it’s about the bill for the cloth you ordered last week, says it wasn’t settled, madam. He’s causing a right fuss and Frederick thought it best to send for you, madam,” Alice said, sounding agitated.

Kate pushed the needlework roughly aside and pulled her sleeves down, sighing.

“I’ll be down directly, Alice,” Kate said rising. “I am sure I have the account here,” she murmured to herself, pushing papers aside on the table, which doubled as her desk when they were at Durham Place. “Ah,” she exclaimed, the account coming to hand instantly.

Kate descended the steps to the kitchen. “I do not know on what authority you come, but this was most surely paid, and I have the account here,” she said briskly.

“Ah, well, me master says as how it’s still unpaid m’lady and I have this here, but seeing as I can’t read…” The man held out a paper in his hand and Kate moved to study the document. She looked at the words, confused for an instant. It told of a sale of