The Spymaster's Daughter by Jeane Westin Page A

queen’s wishes must be obeyed.
    Robert Pauley was waiting, as she had come to expect, just inside the hall outside the chamber. She looked forward to his being there each day, and felt a kind of anxiety if he were not, though she would never admit to such.
    This morning he fell in behind her as they bowed and curtsied their way toward her rooms. She could hear his boots on the tiled floors…one firm step and one slower one. She wondered, not for the first time, what it cost him in strength and effort to walk with no more than a trace of stiffness. He limped only when he was very tired. Perhaps his natural dignity was why she heard no one except Essex mock him, though the Walsingham badge upon his sleeve was also protection against rude jests from the many young idlers at the court.
    Frances spent hours after her noon meal writing a letter to Philip to be enclosed in the next diplomatic pouch going to Holland. She struggled to make it dutiful and interesting, mentioning the queen’s attention, though not what had prompted it. If Frances knew anything of Philip, it was that he would not approve of her talking with Dr. Dee about ciphering.
    Sweet Jesu, would this long day never end to allow the next one to begin, when she could go to Dee?
    F rances was wrenched awake that night by her own terrified scream. Bolting upright in her bed, she clutched the bolster to her breasts. She tried to calm her ragged breathing before Jennet came rushing to her. She succeeded only in pressingher hands against her stomach to stop its roiling, though her stomach was not the part of her body that had been shaken by the vivid vision. Her night shift felt damp.
    In the dream Essex had caught her in a dark corridor. Bright candlelight shone at both ends. There were people, music, even the queen dancing in the distance. But the earl did not care who saw him. “I cannot be denied now. I will have you. You know you want me,” he said, and his white teeth were long and pointed, like tusks.
    She tried to push him away, but she had no strength. Her dreaming arms seemed without bone or sinew. Was he right? Did she want him?
    Then she felt him enter her, thrusting, grunting, and abruptly it was Philip above her, his eyes glazed and unseeing, as uncaring as ever he had been. The thrusts lasted forever until she screamed for him to stop, even if the queen should hear and see. But the queen had disappeared. The music had ceased. The dancers were gone. Full black descended about her, though she was aware of being carried to safety by Robert Pauley, her head tucked into his shoulder.
    â€œMy lady! Sssh, I am here.”
    Robert had her shoulders in a firm grip. She realized she was fighting him from fear and gulping in sobs of breath. He held tight to her. Gradually she stopped shaking, though she clutched at him. His arms folded about her and drew her into his chest, and she felt a very small tremor race through him. She knew then that she should draw away from Robert, but she could not leave such comfort.
    â€œIt was only a dream, Frances,” he murmured so close to her ear his breath warmed her.
    â€œIt was so…” she said, unable to tell him more, having no words to explain what the dream meant even to herself.
    â€œI know,” he said gently. “It was vivid. Such night dreams are.But it did not happen. Whatever frightened you was not real. This is real. You are in your own bed. You are safe. It is near morn.” His arms tightened about her with each clipped sentence.
    You are here and safe in my arms.
She knew Robert had not said such words, but she heard them nonetheless. Had he wanted to say them? Had she wanted to hear them?
    Other, fiercer thoughts tumbled about her head. She did not want such desire…not from Essex…Philip…nor any man. She had learned to live without a man’s desire…even without her own desire. When such feelings came she pushed them away, knowing them to be as false