‘Yes. Are you sorry?’

‘Not sorry at all. Merely surprised. I had resigned myself to leaving without seeing you again. But now that you are here …’ He broke off as one of the heralds strode between us, face imprinted with urgency as he tossed a muttered apology.

‘Is there anywhere we can talk without interruption?’ I ventured.

‘I doubt it. I share a bedchamber with three others. I know a better place, if windswept.’

And with a little gesture he led me through narrow corridors, up a staircase that brushed my skirts on both sides and out onto the wall walk that allowed us to look down onto the little port. The wind tugged at my veil, threatening to tear it loose until I tucked the flighty ends into the high neck of my houppelande.

‘I’ll be relieved when we set sail. It’s too crowded and the natives are getting restive at all the upheaval.’ He pointed to where, below us in the street, the remains of a fracas was being sorted out with fists and the flat of swords by two heavy-handed soldiers.

I slid a glance, picking up his words. ‘You are pleased to be leaving me?’

Leaning an arm on the parapet, John faced me, expression relaxed in bland lines. ‘Did I say that?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I studied my clasped hands. ‘It may be that you see it as an escape from an affair that has become a burden on you.’

‘It may be, of course,’ he agreed. ‘How long does a court affair last, on average?’

‘It’s true they are fleeting,’ I concurred. ‘How many weeks is it since we have exchanged even a word? What woman would not begin to feel bereft?’

‘Or what man consider himself to be hunted by an importunate woman, when she arrives on his doorstep on the day before a campaign? He might of course find a longing for his former freedom …’

His gaze never left my face. Was this to be the end? Nothing but a court flirtation falling to its death on the sword of a military expedition? I did not believe it. He was playing with me. I kept my tone as sweet as honey in the comb. ‘Have you truly no desire to kiss me, sir?’

At which John laughed, that infectious laugh that stirred all my senses as it lifted the gulls from the parapet into raucous flight.

‘I would fall at your feet and kiss them as a token of my regard, except that it would be blasted all over the garrison within an hour and your father would be hunting me for my blood for trifling with his daughter.’

‘Are you trifling?’

‘Not I!’

‘Then you should know.’ I caught his gaze with mine, lavish with anxiety. ‘I carry your child.’

His laughing face stilled, all fine planes and angles as he absorbed the news. The laughter was gone. I spread my fingers against the heavy material over my belly, my eyes dropped from his.

‘A child, John.’

‘Ah!’

He was thinking. I could almost sense the rumble and jostle of his thoughts.

‘I am filled with trepidation,’ I murmured. ‘What do we do?’ I bit my lip.

‘Have you told anyone?’

‘No. Only Philippa.’

‘And what does she say?’

‘That I was a fool.’

‘What do you say?’

‘I think she is right.’

Every part of me was tense, waiting as I felt his eyes narrowed on my profile.

‘Do you regret our love?’ he asked.

‘I might regret the results of it,’ I said sorrowfully. ‘You speak of vile reputation. What of mine? I can hear Walsingham sharpening his quill and his tongue from here. What a gift I have tossed into his lap if he wishes to continue his campaign against the Duke. Or against you,’ I added.

‘No, he’s forgiven the Duke. He is now hailing the Duke as a saviour of England and the perfect royal counsellor. Walsingham hates de Vere more than he hates Lancaster. But that’s not important.’ He looked at me, his eyes agate-bright, and I looked back.

‘I think I am in despair.’ I summoned a beautifully melancholy smile. ‘We could make a secret match of it, of course …’ I suggested.

‘What? Abscond on the eve of the expedition? Wed in secret?’ His eyes bore into mine, until I broke the connection.

‘No. We could not, of course.’ I bowed my head again in a parody of shame. ‘It would be a great sin, to live as man and wife without the church’s blessing. Would we burden this child with the bar of illegitimacy?’

‘Of course we would not. What are you thinking?’

‘I am thinking that I do not have much courage. That perhaps my choice must be a convent where my shame can be born in secret. That is what the Duke will suggest. Philippa thinks so.’ And when there was no reply: ‘The Duke will do all he can to protect the family name. Why would he listen to a daughter who has flouted the mores of society as I have? Such ignominy.’ I felt, with some satisfaction, the dampness of a tear on my cheek.

I thought he might offer comfort. Instead he turned his back, hands fisted on hips, shoulders rigid, leaving me to regroup my resources.

Until he turned his head to look back at me. ‘You were not made for the convent. We both know that.’

‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘But it may be that I must, to hide the shame. How can I not regret …’

‘No time for regrets,’ he announced curtly to a pair of passing kittiwakes. ‘My son and heir is growing larger with every passing day, until all the world will see the results of our lack of control. I do not want him born with all the disadvantages of bastardy. Nor do I want him born in holy disgrace in a convent.’

‘But what can we do? Will you help me? I have no one to turn to …’

Abandoning the gulls, Sir John’s regard became undeniably speculative, his mouth compressed and unsmiling. I held my breath.

‘You have me, dear Elizabeth.’ He was controlling his breathing. ‘And I will have a true heir from you.’

‘So do we abscond?’

All I received was a lift of his brows.

‘I still see the convent doors opening to receive me …’ I pursued.

‘Not they! I doubt they would have you. Are you certain of this child? I see no despair in you.’

‘I am certain, and well practised at masking my despair by now.’ I flattened my palms, one on the other on my breast where my heart bounded with a solemn beat. ‘I am desperately in need.’

‘Then who better to answer that need than I? Come with me, Countess.’

And he bowed me from our windswept platform. I was none the wiser of what he would do, but if anyone could take the initiative and drive our path through thicket and swamp, it was John Holland. Without another word, forbidding in his silence, John led me back down the stairs and then in the wake of my father and Philippa until we came to the door to what proved to be Constanza’s chamber.

‘Stop!’ I urged, pulling on his arm before he could raise a fist to the door as if I was in fear of the consequences. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Something we should have done weeks ago.’

So, on the eve of the campaign, when all was focused on events to take back Constanza’s birthright, John intended to challenge the Duke. It would take courage, but if there was one man with courage and enough it was John Holland.

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I said in anguish, shrinking back as his hand closed on the latch, swallowing the fast leap of victory in my throat.

‘What do you suggest? A fast coupling with Pembroke and a child born—how soon before full term?’ Releasing the latch he cradled my face in his hands and kissed my lips. ‘Better that it is ended and you wed me.’

I took a breath that caught slightly, but raised my chin. ‘Then I think I should tell the Duke myself. I cannot imagine what he will say. A Plantagenet daughter with royal blood bearing a child outside of wedlock.’

His smile was wry. ‘And you think I will allow you to face him alone?’

Pray God you don’t! ‘It might be better.’

‘It would be a slight on my pride.’

‘You will fight for me?’

‘How could you doubt it? We will stand together. And then we will face the world.’ He ran his knuckles down my cheek, then rapped them smartly against my temple. ‘And you, my dear vixen, need play the distraught and helpless ravaged maiden no longer.’

Catching his hand in mine so that he could not rap again, I raised my brows.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

His face was alive, a little devious and supremely beautiful, and I loved him for it.

My heart began to sing, even as I preserved my sanctimonious disapproval.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he murmured against my lips. ‘When were you ever helpless and tearful? I have been reading you like a book. I know exactly how your mind is working.’

‘And how is that?’ allowing puzzlement to colour my voice.

‘It was a tour de force, to play the distraught female to my dominant masculinity and desire to protect you.’

‘You have been laughing at me!’

‘Would I do that?’ he asked briskly. ‘Don’t overplay your hand, Countess! Your father knows you too well. Leave it to me.’

He rapped on the door, while I allowed a light sigh of relief.

All heads turned as we entered. Not in surprise, but in welcome, although perhaps they had not expected John to be there with me.

At least he had released my hand.

‘Come and talk with me about armaments, John. The women have immersed themselves into what they might wear in Portugal.’ The Duke’s eyes were keen, the beginning of a new campaign that might bring him his heart’s desire. It touched my thoughts that my news would destroy all his satisfaction, all his immediate pleasure and fierce concentration in what he saw as the fulfilment of a long-held dream, to rule as King of Castile. Had not Richard already presented the Duke and Constanza with golden diadems? There they were, carefully packed for the journey. And here was I, preparing to coat the dream in dross. For that I was sorry, but what choice had I?