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retrieved my saddlebag. “His name is Cinnabar.” I started walking in the opposite direction, passing Walsingham as he frowned and rose from his perch by the window. I did not explain. I simply left his bag that he might carry it henceforth.
    I might still be a servant but I did not serve him anymore.

 
     
    Chapter Four
    I awoke to snuffling outside the stall. Wiping grit from my eyes, I blinked away the leaden weight of a dreamless sleep, into which I had sunk like a stone after checking on Cinnabar, whom I had found stabled with plenty of feed and so delighted to see me he nipped me hard to prove it. Righting myself on my elbows, I peered between my steed’s legs to the stall gate. I had slept curled in my cloak in the back of the stall, on clean hay; it struck me that I had reverted to my childhood habits, seeking refuge in the stables as I’d often done to escape the Dudley horde.
    A wet black nose pressed at the opening under the gate. When it caught my scent, an explosion of excited barking ensued, loud enough to rouse the entire palace.
    Wincing at my still-sore back (I vowed never to sail the Channel again, so long as I lived), I ran a hand over my close-cropped skull and grabbed my boots and cloak, shedding hay as I rounded my horse to unlatch the gate. No doubt one of the stable hands had returned from walking a nobleman’s dog, and I preferred not to be caught snoozing like a thief in the queen’s own—
    A silver-gray beast flew at me, jumping on muscular hindquarters to slam its front paws against my chest. I cried out, staggering backward as Urian, Elizabeth’s favorite hound, slavered my face, mewling and carrying on as though we’d been parted an eternity. “Stop,” I gasped, fumbling at his collar. “Urian, no!” But I was laughing, too, for I was quite fond of the dog, and it was the first warm welcome I’d received. It was not until I managed to grasp hold of his trailing lead and yank him away that I saw her staring at me, immobile as a statue.
    My heart somersaulted. Though she stood steps away, the distance between us yawned like a chasm.
    “Brendan…?” Her voice was low, unsure. In that one utterance, I heard an abrupt hesitation that punched like a fist into my gut. Kate took a step toward me. “So, it’s true,” she said. “You’re back.”
    My four-year absence suddenly felt like an eternity. The last time I had seen her, she was walking into the Tower at Elizabeth’s side to share her captivity. As I marked the toll of my absence on her face, the hurt and confusion, memories swept through me, of her laughing in our tousled bed in Hatfield, still warm from the waning heat of our lovemaking, her eyes shining as she traced the birthmark on my hip and spoke of the day when we could marry. It made me want to crumple to my knees.
    I had left her without a word. I had never explained why.
    I rested a hand on Urian as he sat beside me, gazing up in adoration. “Yes,” I said softly.
    “When—when did you arrive?” she asked.
    I motioned to my hay-strewn person. “Last night. I found the ambience at court stifling, so I opted for bedding here instead. I can’t be broken of my habits, it seems.” In my nervousness, I heard myself start to chuckle. My mirth withered in my throat as she took another step forward.
    “Don’t.” She pushed her hood to her shoulders, her deep brown eyes huge in a visage that I found too thin, too pale as she said, “You cannot make light of it. Not this time.”
    I swallowed. I had dreaded this moment, gone through my head a thousand times what I would say. How I would explain that I’d kept watch over her through Cecil’s informants, menials he’d bribed in the manors where she and Elizabeth were confined; how I had wanted so many times to write but feared that my letters might be intercepted, that somehow my own whereabouts would be discovered, endangering her. Now, I realized my explanations would sound self-effacing, the protests of a