Mistress Champernowne was even more grateful to Lord Denno than usual—and her normal state was complete reliance on him—when at the end of the first week in November she received a peremptory order to remove Lady Elizabeth from Hunsdon and return to Hatfield. If not for Lord Denno's precaution and generosity they would have arrived at Hatfield virtually bereft of servants and with no way to find well-trained help.
Instructed and funded by Lord Denno, Dunstan had been able to pay a retainer to most of the staff. Many had returned to their families and so found the small monthly fee sufficient to support them; others had found work but were willing to leave those positions for the more prestigious places in the household of the king's daughter. A few had to be replaced, but Dunstan seemed to have no difficulty in finding an experienced laundry maid and cleaner for Lady Elizabeth's bedchamber.
In any event, when Secretary Wriothesley arrived late in November, the household was comfortably settled and running smoothly. Mistress Champernowne could greet Sir Thomas with composure and show him into Elizabeth's private reception chamber, where refreshments swiftly arrived.
Her composure was only slightly disturbed when Wriothesley began to ask questions about the time they had spent at court at the queen's invitation. The investigation into Catherine's promiscuity had been kept so secret that no rumor of it had reached Hatfield. Mistress Champernowne could only conclude that the queen was asking for Elizabeth to come to her again and the king's secretary had been dispatched to be sure Elizabeth was willing and whether her time had been properly employed.
Thus Mistress Champernowne enthusiastically reported that Elizabeth, who loved her books, had continued her studies while at court. They had been slowed, of course, by the small entertainments designed to amuse the queen and divert her from worry about her ailing husband; however Elizabeth had made progress, since her time was most occupied by the queen in the evenings when the child would not have been studying in any case.
"And did you accompany Lady Elizabeth to the queen's apartment in the evening?"
Kat colored faintly. "I was not invited, Sir Thomas, but you must not think that Lady Elizabeth was not properly attended. Lady Rochefort always came to fetch her and always brought her back." She sighed. "I could have wished that the child was sent away earlier so that she could have had a longer night's sleep—but then, nights are very long in February, so Lady Elizabeth was not deprived of her rest."
Wriothesley tilted his head to the side. "Then you are not aware of the entertainment that took place within the queen's apartment?"
Kat considered this. Was he seeking to learn if Elizabeth had betrayed some information of a privy sort? "I was not there, but to some extent I do know, since Lady Elizabeth usually told me what they did."
"And that was?" Wriothesley leaned forward as if to catch every word.
Kat could not imagine why. Queen Catherine was hardly the sort to bother her pretty head about anything that was of a serious nature. "Well, the queen is very young," she said indulgently. "Sometimes they had musicians or a poet to read to them, but mostly I fear they played silly games with cards and marked bones. And for silly forfeits too, not money," she added, lest Wriothesley think that the pocket money given to Elizabeth's household had been gambled away.
Wriothesley continued his intent regard. Kat felt uneasy. "And do you know who the 'they' involved were?"
Did he think that Elizabeth had been exposed to some mean person of no rank? "The queen, of course, and Lady Rochefort and Lady Elizabeth. Francis Dereham, a cousin of the queen's, was often with them and a young gentleman of the king's Privy Chamber . . . ah . . . yes, Thomas Culpepper."
He continued to stare at her. She wished he would have done. "None of the queen's other ladies?"
Kat shook her head. How was she to know all this? "Very likely they came and went but did not join the games, which is why Lady Elizabeth did not mention them, but Lady Elizabeth and the others played in the queen's inner rooms, right next to her bedchamber because they did not wish any noise they made to disturb the king."
"They did not wish to disturb the king?" Wriothesley's tone was a trifle strange, and Kat looked at him questioningly, but he only cleared his throat.
"The king had been ill and was recovering only slowly," Kat said. "He needed his rest. I think the queen feared that hearing them laugh and cry out over the cards might make him restless and sad—feeling left out because of his weakness, you know."
"Ah," Wriothesley said and then, "If you please, would you ask Lady Elizabeth if she would join me here . . . and in private."
The request for privacy made Kat more uneasy, but Lord Thomas Wriothesley was the king's own secretary and surely would do the king's daughter no harm. Kat sighed a little as she went to fetch the girl, for Elizabeth was almost too clever. Thus all she said was that Sir Thomas wished to know whether Elizabeth had enjoyed her stay at court and the company of the queen.
While Elizabeth made small adjustments to her clothing and examined her hair and headdress to be sure she was neat, Wriothesley removed the Bible from the saddlebag in which he had carried it and laid it on the small table that stood between two chairs facing the hearth in which a generous fire burned.
Kat's explanation, coming so soon after Henry and Catherine had returned to Hampton Court, aroused in Elizabeth the same misapprehension as that of her governess. She came into the reception room smiling demurely. Sir Thomas rose at once and bowed; Elizabeth made a small curtsey to Sir Thomas, came forward to the chairs, and prepared to seat herself.
"One moment, please, my lady," Sir Thomas said. "I know this will seem silly to you and likely it is silly, but as the secretary to the king, I must be able to write a report in which I attest that what is said is true. Thus, if you would just swear on this Holy Book to tell the truth . . . ?"
He stepped back so that Elizabeth could see the gilded and bejeweled book on the table. A wave of revulsion made her hesitate, but the firelight was awakening strands and bursts of gleaming red in the black stone at the center of the cross and Elizabeth found herself fascinated. She took another step forward.
"It is only a formality, my lady," Wriothesley urged.
Revulsion still made an uneasy quiver in Elizabeth's middle, but she told herself that such a peculiar feeling was ridiculous. The book was beautiful. There was nothing about it to turn her stomach. She took another step closer. The red threads in the stone seemed to dance, to beckon her.
"It is a Bible, is it not?" Elizabeth asked.
"Indeed it is, my lady. Please feel free to examine the book any way you want." Sir Thomas laughed lightly. "It would not do me much good to have you swear on a collection of verse, now would it?"
Feeling very foolish, Elizabeth flipped open the volume. The familiar words leapt out at her, and she was immediately more at ease. She read a phrase, a sentence, turned more pages. It was indeed a beautiful book, carefully printed and with colored capitals and some key words overdone by hand in gold. Just the Bible, from beginning to end, because driven by caution she did look at the last few pages as well as riffling through to make sure nothing was concealed.
She smiled up apologetically at Sir Thomas. "It is so very beautiful," she said, "I could not resist looking through it," and closed the book.
The breath caught in her throat and she stepped back, only to tread on Sir Thomas's foot. He was right behind her.
"Just put your hand on the cross and swear to tell the truth," he said sharply. "You do not want to have me need to say to your father that you were unwilling to swear on the Bible to tell the truth."
"Of course I will tell the truth," Elizabeth said, so outraged that she laid her hand on the book at once. A sharp tingle ran from her palm, which had touched the strange stone, down to her fingers, and unconsciously she arched her hand upward. "Indeed, Sir Thomas, I cannot imagine what you think I have to lie about."
Sir Thomas laughed loudly and shook his head. "Nothing, my lady. I know from your governess that you are a good girl and did not even allow your stay in court to seriously interrupt your studies." He bowed again. "Do be seated, my lady, if you please."
She boosted herself up into the closest chair. The tingling was gone from her fingers but she still held her hand out toward the fire as if the heat would cleanse it.
"Oh, well," she said, "it was the middle of the winter, you know, and too cold to do much out of doors. And I had little to do most of the day, so it was no great burden to go on with my lessons. Anyway, I like reading Caesar. His memoir of the wars in France is quite exciting."
"I found them so myself, my lady. But Mistress Champernowne says that you were quite gay in the evenings. Not that there is anything amiss in that. A pleasant relief after working hard all day is surely a reward for virtue."
"I did enjoy being with the queen, Sir Thomas," she said, politely, wondering why he was staring at her so. "And I was greatly honored by her attention. I know she was worried about my father, the king's majesty, and we did what we could to relieve her anxiety."
"All her ladies, you mean?" Wriothesley asked sharply, hoping Elizabeth would say yes. Her evidence could not save Catherine, but it might not blacken her further.
"No," Elizabeth amended, "The queen thought that if we were a large crowd we would make too much noise. And she is not too fond of needlework, so she set the ladies at that and withdrew with me and Lady Rochefort and Thomas Culpepper."
"And Francis Dereham?" He watched her so closely that Elizabeth began to feel concerned.
"Oh, yes," she said carefully, "He was there most of the time, but he was very quiet. It was Master Culpepper who made the queen laugh the most."
"And did he make you laugh also?" The look had not changed, so whatever he was waiting to hear, she had not yet said it.
"Sometimes," Elizabeth said with a little hesitation, "but I was attending closely to my cards, which was why I won so many forfeits."
"Do you remember what made the queen laugh the most?"
What could possibly be wrong about making the queen laugh? Did he expect her to have heard something treasonous? "Not really," she told him, pretending indifference. "Something I remember about balls and bowls but I admit I did not see anything specially funny about it. Perhaps I did not understand."
"Did they ever speak of the king's majesty?"
Ah. Elizabeth was on firmer ground now and she was sure of what to say. "Oh, often." She smiled brightly. "The queen heartily wished him well again and deplored his continued weakness. She . . . she was looking forward to the progress they would make."
Wriothesley detected the hesitation and frowned. "You promised to tell all the truth," he urged.
Elizabeth sighed. "She was bored, Sir Thomas. She wished there was more diversion."
Elizabeth knew it was the queen's duty to be satisfied and happy just to be in the king's presence. She felt guilty about admitting that Catherine did not find Henry alone enough, that she longed for the feasts and the masques and the music and dancing that had enlivened the court when she and Henry were first married. To be confined to Hampton Court when most of the nobles had fled was trying Catherine's patience.
Noting the child's unwillingness to admit any fault in the queen, and finding the fault she admitted so innocent made Wriothesley much happier. Otstargi's amulet was certainly working, since Lady Elizabeth had given evidence she did not want to give, and the evidence would do the queen no harm.
"Queen Catherine is very young," Wriothesley said. "It is not surprising that she should find Hampton Court dull during the dreary winter."
This tacit pardon of Catherine's imperfection gave Elizabeth so much relief that she babbled happily about the games and the forfeits and, eventually, about Lady Rochefort taking her off to bed while the gentlemen—sometimes both sometimes only one, Culpepper—remained in the queen's chamber.
Sir Thomas questioned her more particularly about leaving the queen with the gentlemen, and she did her best to satisfy him, but, as she pointed out somewhat impatiently, she was gone from the chamber by then. How could she tell anything about what more was done and said within? No, she did not think they continued to play at cards as more than two hands were needed for the game. Possibly Francis Dereham who was musical played for them or read poetry.
All the while the strange stone, sometimes sparking with red lights as the fire leapt, attracted her at the same time that she wished to cover it up and push it away. Several times she reached toward it and twice actually touched it with the tip of a finger. Sir Thomas smiled at her each time, and certainly did not forbid her. Nonetheless, each time she found the touch vaguely unpleasant, and yet the stone was smooth and dry; how could there be anything unpleasant about a pretty stone?
Eventually Sir Thomas could find no more questions to ask. He thanked Elizabeth for her time and patience and took his leave, wrapping up and taking the Bible with him. Just before he covered it, Elizabeth, watching the crawling streaks and bursts of red in the dark stone, almost asked him to leave the book with her. When he covered it, however, she heaved a big sigh of relief and barely returned his bow with a nod of her head.
Later when Kat wondered why Sir Thomas had needed to question her so minutely but spoke hopefully of their being summoned to court by the queen, Elizabeth felt briefly uneasy. The anxiety passed, however, and she went about her daily life with a pleasant feeling of anticipation. Neither she nor Kat told Denoriel about Wriothesley's visit or what they believed to be its purpose. Both knew that Lord Denno was not happy about their sojourns at court and wished to put off as long as possible any mention of the approach of what he called his misery of loneliness.
Denoriel, who was well aware of the accusations against the queen from worried and frightened conversations he was never meant to overhear between Norfolk and his relatives, did not speak of the court nor the accusations to Elizabeth and Kat. However, once Dereham and Culpepper were brought to trial on December first, there was no keeping the secret any longer.
Since he knew of Elizabeth's fondness for Queen Catherine, Denoriel was not surprised that she reacted violently, but he had not expected the degree of fear and fury that overcame her. Her first impulse was to "slay the messenger" by flying into a near-hysterical rage. He should have warned her, she cried. See what came of not warning her, of trying to keep her ignorant. Because of that she had told Wriothesley things that not only could be used against the queen but might end in her own trial and execution.
"Ridiculous!" Denoriel exclaimed and Kat echoed him. "You cannot have told Wriothesley anything incriminating, either about the queen or about yourself." He turned to Kat. "When was he here? What did he say? Could you not have stopped him from frightening Lady Elizabeth?"
"He insisted on a private interview," Kat faltered. "He is the king's secretary. I could not refuse."
Denoriel's lips parted and then closed. He reached out and took Elizabeth's hand and stroked it. "My lady," he murmured, "you must not allow yourself to be so overset. From what you told me about your time with the queen, neither you nor she did anything or said anything that could be faulted. The games, the forfeits, these were all innocent. Unless—was there something you did not tell me or Mistress Champernowne?"
"No! But what I told you was enough! Master Culpepper kissed her hand and her wrist and forearm too! And I left them alone together more than once."
"But, Lady Elizabeth, you could do nothing else when the queen dismissed you," Kat cried. "You are only a little girl. You are not expected to understand such things. It was Lady Rochefort who was to blame, if anything done was wrong. But even she could not gainsay a dismissal from the queen. No blame will fall upon you."
"Yes it will! I should have told someone. I should have . . ." Her voice dropped to nothing and then rose hysterically. "They will try me and chop off my head!"
"Love," Denoriel murmured, taking her hands in his, "I swear to you that no harm will come to you. You are innocent, but even if you were not, no harm would come to you. If worse comes to worst, I will take you to your Da and he will protect you."
Elizabeth clutched Denoriel's hands. Hers were cold and shaking but she drew warmth out of his and the terror that had increasingly knotted her throat and roiled her belly diminished. To be safe in her half-brother's arms. Yes, she would be safe. There would be no need to kill herself, to jump from the wall or one of the towers and thus end her life quickly and without shame.
Kat looked puzzled when Denoriel called King Henry 'Da' but she saw the expression of relief smooth Elizabeth's pinched features; she assumed it was just a reminder of a relationship that was not totally formal, where personal affection could overrule strict justice.
"Of course you will be safe and protected, you silly child," Kat said. "Now, I know you grieve for the queen, but she should not have lied to the king. Likely if she had told him the truth when he first courted her, she would have been sent away with a handsome present. You have never lied to the king, and you will be protected."
Not by the king, Elizabeth thought, restraining a shudder, but her Da would protect her—and Denno knew where he was and would take her there . . . and the warmth from her Denno's hands flowed into her, pushing out the black cold that had been rising daily to drown her in grief and misery.
Only, feeling a little more confident with Denno's warm hands to comfort her, Elizabeth hoped she would not need to flee to the safe place where her half-brother lived. She wanted to stay in England. This was her place. She had a purpose here. Edward already loved her well and they would be together again, she was sure. When he was king she could be at court with him and he would listen to her.
Elizabeth saw then that Denno's face was pale and strained and she thought the iron cross was hurting him. With a smile and a murmur of apology she released his hands.
It had not been the pain from cold iron that had caused Denoriel's discomfort. Elizabeth had been leaching power from him at a dangerous rate. He had been shocked because it had never happened before. Of course, they seldom touched more than a glancing contact and she had never been in such a state of terror before. Poor child. Would Catherine's execution, if it came to that, remind her of her mother's trial and execution? And Catherine was a Howard, just as Anne had been.
Elizabeth never spoke of Anne, and Denoriel hoped she did not remember what had happened. Yet she remembered Harry very clearly indeed. Was there some way he could soften the blow for her?
After Elizabeth seemed calm and almost able to smile, Denoriel took his leave and rode sedately away from Hatfield to the little wood beyond the farm lane. From there he Gated back to London, arriving still a-horseback in Miralys's stable. The horse-boy, a faun cloaked in illusion, smiled at him, but made no move to do anything. Aside from smiling back, Denoriel ignored him. The faun could and did care for the horses of the occasional visitor to Lord Denno's house, but he recognized an elvensteed and did not presume.
From the stable, Denoriel strolled into the office of his man of business. Joseph Clayborne pushed aside the papers he was studying and started to rise. Denoriel signed for him to remain seated and hitched a hip over the corner of Clayborne's desk.
"What can you tell me about Sir Thomas Wriothesley?"
"Sir Thomas Wriothesley." Clayborne pursed his lips. "No particular family. Served Cromwell when he was Cardinal Woolsey's man. Rose with Cromwell—he was knighted when Cromwell was created Earl of Essex." Clayborne wrinkled his nose. "It appears he escaped being tarred with Cromwell's brush, by giving evidence against his master. I am not sure whether it was that or that he had already caught the king's attention, but he was appointed co-secretary to King Henry with Sir Ralph Sadlier."
Denoriel sat staring at the cabinets against the wall of Clayborne's office. There did not seem to be anything at all uncanny about Wriothesley; however he could have said something to Elizabeth, threatened her in some way, that—considering her background—induced panic. A terror so strong that she needed to draw energy from him?
"Have we any business with Secretary Wriothesley?" Denoriel asked. "I would like to meet him if I could."
"Had the situation in the royal household been other than it is, I would have said that Norfolk could have provided an introduction."
Denoriel laughed. "Two nieces caught in adultery is at least one more than Norfolk could expect to survive without a blemish. After presiding with his peers over the trial of Dereham and Culpepper, he left for his country estate at Kenninghall where he will watch over and question Lady Rochefort. He hopes, I suppose, to make her the instigator and reduce his niece's guilt."
"It will not serve, m'lord." Joseph seemed certain of that. Denoriel agreed with him.
"No, it cannot. It was the queen who committed the crime, no matter who persuaded her to it." Denoriel shook his head. "But if Lady Rochefort did urge Catherine to commit adultery . . . I wonder if I could find out . . ." Denoriel let his voice drift away, remembering that he could find out.
Clayborne shrugged. "That is far beyond my purview, m'lord, but I will look through our accounts and see if I can find a connection to Secretary Wriothesley or, perhaps, a trading venture in which he might be interested. He likes money."
Denoriel was satisfied to leave his meeting with Wriothesley in Clayborne's hands, and he was not disappointed—at least not in the fact of their meeting two weeks later. He was disappointed in a sense because there was nothing to connect Wriothesley with the Unseleighe—and Elizabeth now seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. First she had accused him again of lying to her. On another visit she had thrust the picture of Harry back at him, and when he came again she had refused to see him at all. Aleneil had been just as forcefully rejected.
Denoriel wanted to suspect Unseleighe tampering because a spell, once it was recognized, could be countered by another spell or broken, whereas a violent disruption of the mortal mind or spirit was much more difficult to cure. But Wriothesley had no magic, no Unseleighe taint, and no other strangers had had access to Elizabeth. Moreover, Elizabeth's own Talent made it impossible—at least for him—to detect a well-shielded spell laid on her.
In addition there were natural reasons for her anxiety. Culpepper and Dereham were executed on the twelfth of December and over the rest of the month and the beginning of January, the Howard family was severely questioned about Catherine's behavior as a girl. Parliament was summoned in December, and just before it convened on the sixteenth of January, many of the Duke of Norfolk's relatives were found guilty of misprision of treason for concealing Catherine's lack of chastity. They were sentenced to forfeiture of all their possessions and to perpetual imprisonment.
Although Kat assured Denoriel, on one last visit to Hatfield, that she had done her best to keep this information from the child, it was impossible to prevent the servants from gossiping about so lush a scandal. No doubt they gossiped only when and where they thought Elizabeth could not hear, but her hearing was keen and she was not sleeping well.
The punishment of the Howards induced a terrible panic in Elizabeth. No matter what Kat said, no matter that they had not again been troubled by questions about Elizabeth's stay in court, Elizabeth was convinced that she was soon to join her cousins and aunts and uncles and be thrust into prison. And then Catherine was executed on February 13.
At her wits' end, because Elizabeth was now refusing to eat as well as waking screaming three and four times a night, Kat wrote to Lord Denno and sent Tolliver racing to London to summon him. She had done everything she knew how to do; the physicians could find nothing wrong with Elizabeth except her hysteria. Kat had even written an appeal to the king to reassure his daughter. No reply came directly from Henry, who perhaps had been reminded of Elizabeth's mother, also executed for adultery, but Secretary Wriothesley had written that Elizabeth should be calm; no evil was imputed to her.
The letter had no effect. Lord Denno, Kat wrote, was her last hope, even though Elizabeth swore she would never see him again. Denoriel told Tolliver to rest his exhausted horse a day before returning to Hatfield, mounted Miralys, and presented himself to Kat just as dusk was falling. Kat was astonished, but went to rouse Elizabeth, who was now refusing to get out of bed. However, when Kat begged Elizabeth to talk to Lord Denno, the child began to scream with rage and fear.
"Denno is a liar," Elizabeth shrieked. "He will not save me. He cannot save me. No one can save me. Denno has given me false comfort in public while in secret he is trying to destroy me."
Without waiting for permission, Denoriel walked through the door into Elizabeth's bedchamber. Elizabeth grabbed a bowl full of soup she had not eaten from the table beside her and threw it at him.
"Lady Elizabeth!" Kat protested, retreating as the soup sprayed over her and the bedclothes.
Denoriel caught the bowl and then gasped with shock. He had not seen Elizabeth for nearly a month and the change in her was terrifying. She had never been round and rosy-cheeked, even as an infant. Her skin had always been pale, but there had been a sort of glow, a look of resilience, of health, to her face. Now the skin looked dull and her cheeks seemed to have fallen in so that she looked wizened, more like a shrunken old woman than a child.
"What is wrong?" Denoriel cried, covering the room in three bounds and going down on his knees on the little step stool Elizabeth used to climb into bed. "How am I trying to destroy you?"
She began to recoil, but he seized her hands . . . and felt his power being sucked away into a bottomless pit of black cold. Elizabeth no longer resisted, but burst into racking sobs and sank back on the pillows behind her. She made one feeble attempt to pull her hands from his, but desisted when he just tightened his grip.
"Blanche!" he roared, turning on Kat. "Where is Blanche?"
"No, no, don't call Blanche," Elizabeth sobbed. "I've nearly killed her."
"Don't be silly, Lady Elizabeth," Kat protested. "One doesn't say she is killing someone because that person is tired from nursing her." She looked at Denoriel. "Blanche is abed." Her voice quavered a little and she hastily added, "She has been sitting up most nights with Lady Elizabeth and is naturally worn out."
"Unnaturally worn out," Elizabeth sobbed. "She stops the dreams, but . . . but it is as if she catches them, and they hurt her."
"What dreams?" Denoriel asked.
He was grateful that he was kneeling on the stool. At the rate she was draining him, he was not sure his legs would support him for long. Soon he would have to withdraw from her or be useless to her. Almost unaware of what he was doing, he sought and found a glittering white line of power. Could he drink it and pass it through himself to Elizabeth or would it sear his power lines beyond repair?
"Of you!" Elizabeth's voice was so shrill and loud that it pierced through Denoriel's conflict about drawing power from the violent mortal source. "Of you telling me you love me and you cannot bear to see me shamed and hurt, so I should climb up the wall or to the tower and throw myself off. It would be only a moment's pain, you said, and then I would be safe forever from the shame of being daughter and cousin to queenly whores. Safe from being myself beheaded."
"No!" Denoriel cried. "I told you I could keep you safe and I can. That was not me in your dream! Did you not sense that it was not me?"
He felt Elizabeth's start of surprise and then a kind of softening in the tight tension with which she had gripped his hands. However, before she could speak, Kat came closer.
"Well, it was a dream, so of course it was not you," Kat said. "But I cannot think why Lady Elizabeth would mix your image into such a dreadful dream. What a terrible, horrible, unchristian idea to put into a child's head." She came and patted Elizabeth's shoulder. "I am sure Lord Denno would never give such advice in a true dream, but there are false dreams, Lady Elizabeth. Now get out of bed like a good girl and I will call a maid to change this wet coverlet."
Denoriel backed away as Elizabeth complied, walking slowly to a chair and seating herself. His blood beat in his throat and his mouth was dry. False dream! And the sucking out of his power. It was a spell! A spell of dissolution! Because she had Talent, she was especially vulnerable—like her mother. But Elizabeth had far more power than Anne. Her inner strength had kept her alive. Without her power, she would have been dead long ago. She had been resisting the spell—and drawing on Blanche for more power, which was why the maid was drained out.
Poor child. Denoriel swallowed. Pasgen. The spell must be Pasgen's. He had no proof, but if he could lay hands on Pasgen, he would wring his neck. Only it was more important to free Elizabeth than to hunt Pasgen. Denoriel was furious with himself for having missed the signs the first time Elizabeth's touch had drained him. He could have saved her months of agony. Now even an hour more seemed too long. He went down on his knee beside her chair and took her hands, then raised them to his lips and kissed them. Last, he folded them together and set them in her lap.
Softly, despairingly, Elizabeth began to cry.
"No, don't cry love," he said. "I think I know why you are having these bad dreams. And they are just dreams, sent to frighten you and torment you."
"Sent?" Kat cried, coming back into the room. "Sent by whom? And who would want to frighten and torment Lady Elizabeth?
Elizabeth met Denoriel's eyes, and she looked even more frightened. She knew who might want to frighten and torment her, but she had no idea why the being who looked so much like her dear Denno hated her so much. And she could not get comfort from Kat because she and Blanche had never told Mistress Champernowne about the attack on her. She said nothing, her hands tightening in her lap until the knuckles showed white. Denoriel's jaws clamped shut for a moment; then he shook his head at Kat.
"I don't know," he lied, "but I will do my best to find out. And even if I cannot find out, I think I know how to make the dreams stop." He took Elizabeth's hands again, kissed the white knuckles. "You may have another dream tonight, but it will be a different kind of dream and the bad ones will go away." His voice shook a little, not with weakness but with his anger. "Of that you may be certain."