Free The Boleyn Reckoning by Laura Andersen Page A

post as Warden of the Cinque Ports, Dominic would spend much of the spring and summer in the southeast and along the coasts ensuring the defenses were prepared for a possible French fleet invasion. For that reason he didn’t remain at Kenilworth above an hour. At least, that was the excuse he gave Amy Dudley, Robert’s wife, when she clearly expected him to stay the night.
    “But you have come so far!” she protested, widening her eyes in appeal. Amy was pretty in a general sort of way, with blonde hair and fair skin, but it was the prettiness of youth, and already Dominic could see how discontent had marred her appearance. Not that he blamed her for being discontented—she was a woman deeply in love with a husband who seemed to forget her inconvenient existence for months at a time. “And I have been so out of the way here,” she continued to plead, “with little news from Robert’s family.”
    What news did she want? Dominic wondered. Details of her father-in-law’s trial and execution? The precarious fate of her remaining brothers-in-law? The likelihood of her husband ever coming home?
    For pity’s sake, Dominic told her, “I have been to see your husband several times. He is being treated well and is in good health. If my errand is successful, I expect he will be released from the Tower before autumn comes. Surely you would wish me speed on such an errand.”
    She studied the sturdy oak chest Dominic and Harrington had removed from her bedchamber, three feet wide and two feet deep, bound with iron bands and a forbidding lock. Dominic could read the emotions chasing across Amy’s face: hope, loneliness, the bitterness of loving a man who had eyes for every woman but her.
    At last she shrugged and with feigned indifference said, “I wish you well on your journey, Lord Exeter. Tell Robert I look to hear from him as soon as he is allowed to write.”
    “I’ll tell him,” Dominic promised. For the life of him, he could not decide if Amy wanted Robert freed or not. At least while her husband was in the Tower she could be reasonably certain he wasn’t visiting other women’s beds.
    Minuette approached the Tower of London with wary curiosity. She had been unsure of how to go about seeing Eleanor without William’s knowledge or permission. (Dominic’s knowledge didn’t come into it, since he had gone north to fetch Robert Dudley’s evidence.) In the end she’d done what she had usually done in the past: gone to Elizabeth for advice.
    Though her friend raised both eyebrows when Minuette said she needed aid to see Eleanor Percy, she had not tried very hard to dissuade her. “You might wish to go armed,” Elizabeth cautioned wryly. “Barring that, I suppose I can spare Walsingham for a few hours. He’ll get you in and out and ensure no blood is shed on either side.”
    Walsingham did indeed get Minuette in with a minimum of fuss. From the attentiveness of the Lieutenant of the Tower, it appeared her position as William’s intended bride had spread beyond court. Minuette let herself play the part of a haughty noblewoman doing her duty to a woman much less fortunate as she followed the lieutenant to the second floor of the circular tower in which Eleanor Percy was confined.
    Every time Minuette shared space with Eleanor, she was forcibly reminded of the sheer physical presence of the woman. Not overly tall or classically beautiful, Eleanor Percy inhabited her body as if it were a weapon. Just now her weapon was sheathed, dressed in black and white that Minuette would have considered an attemptat demureness if it weren’t such a dramatic backdrop to her blonde hair and ivory complexion. The gown showed less of Eleanor’s cleavage than usual, but she still curved in all the right places. Even fully clothed she gave the impression of barely checked passion.
    “Mistress Wyatt.” Eleanor’s curtsey was like a slap, the dislike plain to be seen. But there was something besides dislike in her attitude today,