“Oh, yes? Many who claim they work for the common good often mean they work for the good of themselves. Why do you so much wish for Elizabeth to succeed?”
Colby’s expression revealed nothing. “I have told you. So, England will remain free from the Empire and from domination by Rome.”
“But why?” I persisted. “Why are you so opposed to Mary’s religion and her dedication to Philip? Or do you simply not like Spanish food?”
Colby didn’t smile at my witticism. His gloved hands curled at his sides, his blue eyes tight. “If the heresy laws are reinstated, and the Inquisition takes root here, things will be very bad.”
“That fact is evident. I do not wish to be dragged off and tortured because I recite the paternoster in English.” I let out a dry laugh. “Which Bedingfield would immediately report to Mary, of course.”
“Aye, Mary chose Elizabeth’s jailer well. Stubborn and blind at the same time.”
“You are wandering from the subject,” I said.
A chance beam from the shuttered window touched his red hair. By his stance, the shape of his face, and his coloring, he was very Tudor-like—Elizabeth’s hair was red and gold, Mary’s dark but tinged with red as well.
“Why do you wish to know all my reasons?” Colby asked softly. “Suffice it to say they are good ones. I want foreign rulers to stay far from England.”
I pressed my hands to my stomacher, chilled. “I haven’t quite decided I trust you, James. I know nothing about you—not who your people were nor why you do not remain in Shropshire puttering about your estate. I do not see in you the feverish obsession of a fanatic, and so I must wonder what you gain by helping Elizabeth.”
We squared off, Colby’s face taut with the effort of holding in his temper.
“What must I do to gain your trust?” he asked in wariness.
“Tell me the truth. You are not an idealist, like Thomas Wyatt. You are not a cocksure courtier, like Robert Dudley. You do not have ruthless aspirations to rule through a puppet-queen, like Northumberland.”
Colby’s gaze flicked from mine to the wall behind me. “You ask too many questions.”
“Because you refuse to answer them. I will therefore have to give you my conclusions, and you will not like them.”
Colby’s brows drew down as he focused on me again. “I have no interest in your conclusions.”
I stepped to him and wound a lock of his hair around my first two fingers. “Tudor red.”
Colby moved impatiently, disentangling himself from me. “Many a man in England has red hair. It is not unusual.”
I touched his chin. “You remain clean-shaven, and you do not put yourself forward. You are taller than he was and quite slim, but when you are out of temper …” I drew back. “I should take care with that, were I you.”
Colby’s voice went hard. “You know nothing, Eloise.”
“You cannot trust me with this secret?” I demanded. “You trust me with so much, and not, I believe, because Lord Robert assured you I had integrity.”
“My secrets are dangerous.” Colby glared at me, his expression so like Elizabeth’s when she was in a temper. “Everyone who knew this secret is dead, save me.”
I remained close to him, with no desire to run. Colby’s body was warm, his strength apparent. I placed my hand on his chest to feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
“I must know one thing,” I said calmly. “Do you plan to overthrow her, or rule through her? Or blackmail her to keep it secret that Henry has a living, male son?”
Colby grew very still. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. “If any of that were my intention, I would kill you before I left this house.”
I drew a sharp breath. “Then the fact that I remain alive means you have no designs on the throne?”
“None whatsoever.” Colby’s lip curled. “Why should I?”
“For one thing, Mary would not be queen and planning to marry a Spanish prince.”
Colby shook his head, and the tension in him eased slightly. “I would have to fight hard for the crown, and even if I won, I could not prove my claim. I was never acknowledged. My true mother was a milkmaid of Gloucestershire. I was taken off her hands and given to the Colbys of Shropshire to raise, and I never saw my mother again. She is dead. The Colbys are dead as well, and so is Henry.”
“Such difficulties never stopped men with lesser claims,” I pointed out.
