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Henry stepped up and scratched one of the pups on the head. “Are they Twelfth Night gifts?”
“Yes. For the orphans I’ve taken into my house in town.”
“The Scot needs a letter of introduction to enter,” Giles said.
Greer nodded to the horse. “’Tis in my satchel.”
Lucy slid her hand along the side of the large horse, so she wouldn’t spook him. He swung his head around and eyed her but didn’t move away. She dipped her hand in the bag, grabbing the letter at the top.
“Here.” She waved it as she walked back.
“It could be a forgery,” Henry said, looking at the writing above the wax seal.
“Don’t be contrary,” Lucy chastised. “He’s come all this way to warn our queen. I’ll take him directly to Lord Walsingham.”
The guard sucked on his teeth and narrowed his eyes at Greer. “See that you do, milady.”
Lucy walked under the raised portcullis and into the open-air bailey before the large stone-wrought buildings. “There are stables ahead,” Lucy said, leading the massive steed. “You can pay a stable boy to care for him.”
Outside the wooden building, Greer lowered both dogs, who shook and pranced around. One puppy lifted his leg to piss on a pile of snow against the barn.
Greer’s fingers momentarily slid against Lucy’s hand when he took the reins. The contact was through her glove, but the brush made her heart thump a bit faster. Drat the man for being handsome. She needed to stay well away from him if he was hunting a traitor named Cranfield.
*
Inside Whitehall, hollywas strung around the lit chandeliers and over doors, giving the entry chamber a cheerful look despite the weapons hung about displaying English military strength. Lucy led the Highlander down the corridor toward the Great Hall. Their boots rapped on the floor as they strode along without speaking.
“Lord Walsingham is probably in the Great Hall.”
Lucy peeked around the corner into the large room. A huge log was being hoisted by ten men into one of the hearths, most of it sticking out into the room. “’Tis the Yule log,” she said, her voice hushed. It would burn until the sixth of January, slowly being eaten away and shortening to eventually fit entirely into the hearth.
Before the other hearth, which was burning brightly, stood a small circle of men in hose, voluminous breeches, and ruffs about their necks, reminding Lucy how lowly she was dressed. She tugged her cloak closed and retreated out into the corridor. The Highlander hesitated for a moment and followed her.
Lucy’s cheeks were flushed. “Sir Francis Walsingham is there,” she said, nodding toward the room. “With Sir William Cecil, Baron Burghley, and Robert Leister, Earl of Leicester, and a few other of the queen’s advisors. And I’d rather they not see me dressed so.”
“Lucy?”
Cordelia Cranfield strode toward her, making Lucy look between her and Greer, the assassin hunter.Holy hell.Always dressed immaculately, with her red hair topped with a French hood, Lucy’s sister frowned as she stopped before them. “Whatever are you wearing?”
Lucy clutched her cape closed. “Just something to help me blend in with the crowds. I told you I was going out to see the orphans who’ve been sleeping at our house.”
“Simmons hasn’t thrown them out yet, I hope,” Cordelia said.
John Simmons, the aging man who watched Cranfield House alone since Lucy’s mother died, did not like disruption. Allowing the three orphans to sleep in Lucy’s bedchamber had ruffled the older man’s feathers. The baby mastiffs might push him over the edge to quitting.
“No, and I increased his allowance to buy them food.”
Cordelia wiped her hand down the front of Lucy’s cape. “You’re covered with dog fur.” Cordelia lowered her voice, her gaze narrowing. “What did you do?”
“I found two puppies who need a home.”
Cordelia grimaced. “You cannot save everyone.”
“Percy and Pip will be the last,” Lucy answered, knowing full well it was a lie. Her sister knew it, too, and gave her a doubtful look.
“Ye’ve named them?” Greer asked.
“I very well can’t call them pup one and pup two,” she said, her eyebrows rising. “The one I carried seems like a Percy. Will Pip fit yours?”
