Free The Traitor's Daughter by Barbara Kyle Page A

purse of coins Matthew paid him. He hungered for advancement, the kind that the Lord Secretary Sir Francis Walsingham could give him, recommended by Matthew. The kind that brought rich posts at court and eventually the security of rent-generating land, putting him on a footing almost equal to Kate, daughter of a baron. He told her this on their wedding day, assuring her that he would not be satisfied until he could provide the manner of life she had enjoyed in her father’s house. “I want it for you,” he had said. “For us. For our children.” Kate herself would have been content to stay away from the competitive arena of court-climbing, but she was no fool. Having sparked ambition in her husband she saw that his inferior status would eat at him, and bitterness like that could erode even the happiest marriage.
    Owen’s parting words to her as he’d left the alehouse had been most sober. “When we’re back at Her Ladyship’s house we’ll talk, you and I. About telling Matthew you have changed your mind. You leapt at the chance to help Her Majesty, I understand that. You have a generous heart, Kate, and I bless you for it. But this danger is not for you. Not while I have breath to prevent you and protect you.” He had kissed her again, ardently. And then he was gone.
    Passing Fishmongers Hall she realized she was obsessively fingering the row of buttons on her cloak. An unconscious habit that surfaced when she was anxious. The smooth, small buttons slipping over her fingertips felt comforting. Like rosary beads, she thought with a prickle of alarm, and instantly dropped her hands to her sides. Her father had brought her up in the English church, a Protestant, but when her mother tore Kate and her brother from England and settled them in Brussels she had immediately sent them for instruction in the Catholic catechism. Kate’s mother had been about to place her in a convent when her father tracked them down and forcibly took Kate back to England. In Kate’s mind, Catholic ritual was now fused to the image of her traitorous mother.
    Enough disturbing thoughts, she told herself. They led to nothing good. She set her mind to the huge task ahead: how to become the new courier. Owen would not dissuade her. He was worried about her safety and she loved him for that, but she now knew that her mind was made up. The decision was sealed by the excited mood of the people in the street who so loved their monarch. It matched her own admiration for this queen who had been kind to her. Her Majesty had escaped a bullet today, but Catholic radicals would continue to try to murder her. They just kept coming. One day one of them might succeed. And if the rumors Owen had reported were true the would-be assassins might be the vanguard of an invading army. England would not win such a contest. Then, the victors would exact vengeance on people like Matthew and Owen and Kate. Nooses would snap their necks.
    No, nothing would dissuade her. Not even Owen.
    But now, how to proceed? Matthew had suggested she visit Ambassador de Castelnau using her acquaintance with his wife and make her case to him as a good Catholic who could no longer abide Mary’s imprisonment, and present herself as ready and willing to act in Mary’s interests. But, thinking it through as she walked along Thames Street, she rejected so direct an approach. It could look suspect, especially so soon after Griffith’s death. No, her best entry into Castelnau’s confidence was probably a more subtle route. She had first met Marie de Castelnau at a banquet Kate’s father had hosted three years ago. Marie was Kate’s age, four decades younger than her sixty-two-year-old husband. They had quickly become friends. It had been months since Kate had seen Marie, who had gone into her confinement with her third child, but Kate had sent her a note of congratulations at the baby’s birth. Those good wishes had been