but I have taken accommodations in the village. I do apologize for presuming on our acquaintance and bursting in, but there are circumstances,” the broad Devon voice trailed off as Ralegh caught sight of me. “I must have some speech with you, your grace, if you will permit me. Privily,” he added as I looked to Geoffrey, who stepped forward, motioning towards a room off the hall.
“There’s a goodly fire in the library,” he said. Ralegh’s eyes flicked from Geoffrey’s face to Nicolas’s, but he said nothing as he followed them into the cozy room and took the offered chair. They waited until I seated myself at Ralegh’s side, then vanished back into the shadows of the hall. Ralegh took tobacco and two pipes from his doublet, filled them, and handed one to me. I took it warily. He caught up the small tongs hanging by the hearth, using them to light the pipes with a coal from the fire, then sighed and gazed at me for a few seconds before he spoke.
“Well, Kit, glad I am to see that you still smoke in private, at least.” I recoiled as though I had been stung, breaking the fragile clay pipe to bits. I tossed the fragments into the fire and brushed the bits of smoldering tobacco from my clothing before turning my gaze on the older man. “It is you, is it not, Kit? I do not know how you come to be alive when all reports had you dead and buried, and I care not, but I am glad of it! Though I was surprised to see you at court. No, I’ve told no one, and shall not.”
“Are these the circumstances of which you spoke,” I asked, happy to hear that my voice remained quiet and steady even though I found myself considerably agitated.
“Would it were,” Ralegh answered. “No, ’tis about the man you shot that I have come. He was a distant, though fond relation of the Earl of Essex, and it is lucky that our jolly Robin is sulking in the country just now. Some of the gallants that have attached themselves to Essex are out for your blood.”
“I find that less than fearsome,” I snorted, and Ralegh’s lancet gaze flicked to my shoulder and back to the fire. “And so I must conclude that there is more you wish to tell me.”
“Indeed there is. What have you done to drive your little lamb Walsingham into Northumberland’s fold?” I started again, though I hoped less obviously, and waited for the other man to elaborate. “He came to me the night of the shooting, and Harry was there. The fool has no discretion at all, and started babbling some nursery tale about men returning from the grave, and I’m afraid, Kit, that before I could bundle him out of the room he cried out that the prince we knew as Kryštof was none but Marlow returned from the grave to revenge himself for the murder done him; he has the idea that the bullet you fired was meant for him, you see. I stilled his tongue, but I fear that the damage had been done.” He drew his fingers across the bruised knuckles of his right hand reflectively. “Harry’s no fool, and though he seemingly accepted the story I spun to excuse Walsingham’s behavior, I can put no trust in it. Walk softly Kit, and watch behind you. Walsingham’s been close closeted with Northumberland these two days past, and I hear rumors that Essex may not mump as long in the country as some of us would care to have him.” Ralegh smoked in silence as I contemplated his news, and the bright blue eyes never left me as I went to the side table to pour a glass of wine.
“Is that how you recognized me, then,” I spoke softly, my thoughts in turmoil. The time for denying Ralegh’s perception was certainly past; I had wit enough left to see that, at least.
“I have been watching you at court, where I find it behooves me to mark all my younger rivals,” Sir Walter answered, awry smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I often thought I had remembered some apt turn of phrase, or felicitous cadence in your speech, but it was not until two nights past that I identified you by the scar on your hand. Even then I put but scant faith in what my eyes told me, until Walsingham’s outburst. And even now, I find