Colby spoke in neutral voice, and I could not see his face, but the words were tense.
“Has she died?” I asked softly.
“Two years ago, in childbed.”
Colby was perhaps only a few years older than I, but that age was enough for him to have married and sired children. A woman dying bearing a babe was not unusual, but still sad.
“I am sorry.” I touched his arm. “That is a tragedy.”
He did not answer, and I had to leave it at that.
Colby twitched in impatience to get away, scarcely giving me time to gather up my needle case and tuck it into a bag. I suppose he’d have liked me to simply throw a cloak over my nightgown and flee with him, but sewing accessories were expensive. Mine were precious to me, a gift from Aunt Kat long ago.
Once I was ready, we descended through back stairs that were deserted, the old Tower cold and musty, even in the heart of July. We wound through a narrow, bricked yard in the pitch dark, the torches in the main courtyard and the sounds of men and horses not a breath away.
Colby led me to a water gate, our feet slipping and sliding on the damp stone stairs to the river. The tide was out, but a tiny boat rocked on the Thames not far from the sludge of shore.
Colby propelled me onward, his fingers biting my arm. Mud sucked at my feet as I splashed toward the boat. The two of us climbed aboard the tiny vessel, and Colby took up the oars. I sat in the bow, watching him row us downstream, my bag of accoutrements at my feet.
I was trusting him, which could be a mistake. He could be taking me straight into the arms of Mary, who might not be happy that I’d been helping Jane the so-called queen. In addition, I was deserting Jane—poor Jane, who had no one on her side.
But for some reason I believed that Colby wished to aid me in returning to Elizabeth. Robert cared for Elizabeth’s person, but Colby seemed a man who might be more loyal to her as princess.
Also, I could not object to leaving the Tower. A palace it might be, a fortress to protect kings and queens, but I could never forget its bleaker function.
I huddled in my cloak against the wind that skimmed up the river from the sea. Colby strained at the oars, moonlight brushing his dark tunic and trousers tucked into riding boots. No flashy court colors, no hat with plumes, just plain garments for escaping.
We moved as silently as smoke, my cloak and Colby’s subdued clothes blending into the shadows.
Colby rowed for an hour or more at an even tempo, taking only brief rests. After this, he angled the boat for a dark bank until we bumped against a deserted dock jutting into an inlet. Colby leapt out, then reached down and hauled me up beside him.
Beyond the jetty lay a village, typical of mid-England, with thatched-roofed houses surrounding a green. I had no earthly idea where I was. The houses were small and silent, and no lights shone as we hurried through the high street.
Where the high street became a road leading from the village, a lanky young man waited with two horses, one a well-bred animal, the other more ample and placid. The young man sagged in vast relief when we appeared out of the darkness.
He—Colby’s servant or squire, I could not tell which—helped boost me into the saddle of the fine horse, and Colby swung up behind me. He apparently did not trust me to ride alone.
The servant mounted the staid beast, and we rode off into the night.
The sun tinged the horizon with gray not long later. We headed north and west, I saw by where the sunrise lay. Colby’s charger moved swiftly, though I sensed Colby holding the horse back to prevent winding him.
I felt it safe to speak now, so I pried a fold of cloak from my mouth and turned my head to look up at him. “You never told me why you and Lord Robert decided I should return to my lady.”
Colby took his time answering, as though deliberating what to say. When he spoke, it was through tight lips, his face stained pink from the wind.
“Mary will return the old religion to England.”
I waited, but Colby pressed his mouth closed, no more forthcoming.
“Every simpleton will conclude that,” I said in exasperation. “Let me see if I understand you aright. You supported Jane at first, because she and Northumberland would retain the reformed faith. You now believe Northumberland cannot stand against Mary, and so you want Elizabeth safe. Her claim on the throne is likely to be restored when Northumberland is overthrown.”
Colby said nothing for three or four of his horse’s strides. “Women gossip overmuch,” was his enlightened comment.
“It is not gossip but simple reasoning. You want to save the reformed faith, not the throne. At least you do. What Lord Robert wants I can only guess.”
“He wishes you to keep watch,” Colby said. “And to report any difficulties to him.”
“I will not spy on my lady,” I began.
