Free Dark Angels by Karleen Koen Page B

lanterns that showed the path his brother, his cousin, and his son walked as they came back up to the castle from the sea, where they’d been swimming. He sent a Life Guard to fetch them, and after a time there was a little cabal of family, Life Guards stationed along the parapet to keep everyone else away, though sleep likely did that.
    “Send me back with her,” said Monmouth after his father explained what Buckingham had told him. “I’ll kill Monsieur, run a sword right through his heart.”
    King Charles smiled in the dark. “While I can’t fault your sentiment, I’m afraid that’s no solution, Jamie.”
    “You’re too young to ruin your life. I’ll do it,” said the king’s cousin Prince Rupert. “Send me.”
    “No one is killing anyone.” The king’s brother, the Duke of York, was perturbed, but then, of them all, he had the least humor.
    “However, the notion of sending someone back with her is an excellent idea.” King Charles leaned an elbow on the thick ledge of the stone wall. “Someone who could report daily, so that if I must demand a separation for her, I can tell our cousin Louis that I do it on the basis of clear evidence. She won’t do it; her pride’s too great.”
    “You forget her faith,” said York.
    All of them were silent a moment. For a princess of France to separate from a prince of France would be a huge thing, a terrible scandal that would involve the pope and the Church of Rome. And there were reasons now, known only to King Charles and York, not to wish an upset to King Louis of France.
    “Whom might we send?” said King Charles, making, as only his brother knew, a decision that might change the destiny of the war they were plotting.
    They were silent again, the sound of the sea in their ears and now and again silver bells.
    Monmouth broke the silence. “Send Saylor. He showed wit and courage in Tangier and certainly in the situation with the black mass.”
    No one spoke. Lieutenant Saylor was rumored to be lovers with Monmouth’s wife. Saylor was discreet in it; the Duchess of Monmouth was not. Sauce for the gander was sauce for the goose in Charles’s court, but Monmouth was young and much indulged.
    “He speaks French,” said Prince Rupert. “You could send him back as a tutor for her. She’s told everyone she is going to improve her English. Monsieur would accept it. It might not be liked, but it would be accepted.”
    “That Monsieur dares dismiss her favorites,” said York, finally catching up in anger over what the king told them. “At the very least, we’d have someone in the household, a spy that Monsieur cannot dismiss without displeasing you, which will displease King Louis. Send me. I’ll run Monsieur through and eat his heart.”
    Prince Rupert and Monmouth laughed, and Prince Rupert slapped York on the back as if in congratulation. They talked more of whom else they might send but kept coming back to Richard Saylor.
    “His discretion is excellent,” said Prince Rupert. Not only did he not play the part of swaggering lover to a high-ranking duchess before the court, he would not name the woman involved in the black mass, claiming she had worn a mask, that she’d run away before anyone could question her. The page swore the same thing. “To have called in the French priests was brilliant. We might have had a nasty incident on our hands.”
    “True,” said King Charles.
    “Monsieur’s gentlemen won’t be pleased. It was Saylor who arrested them,” said York.
    “Perhaps his presence may remind them to act as gentlemen,” said King Charles.
    “Perhaps not,” answered York.
    “It seems to be decided. If you’ll excuse me, then, Father.”
    The other three were silent as Monmouth left them.
    “Young hound,” said Prince Rupert when Monmouth was far enough down the parapet not to hear. “His wife is a spirited gal. Did he think she’d take all his indiscretions without some of her own?”
    King Charles and York made no answer. Queen