Dragon's Court. Joanna Makepeace

are on your way south?” she enquired diffidently.

      “Yes, I journey to London on business but I hope to return home for Christmas. My younger sister, Anne, is expecting her second child then and I am anxious to attend the christening.”

      “Your sister is wed to a local gentleman?”

      “Yes, she is very happily wed to Sir Thomas Squire whose manor is near Bolton. She already has a healthy brat of a five-year-old-son, Frank, whom we all love dearly. I am hoping she will bear a daughter this time, for me to cosset.”

      Anne was silent for a moment, considering. How fortunate Anne Allard had been to marry a man who loved her and to bear his children, but how could she endure the dull life in the wilds of Yorkshire?

      “Is—is Sir Thomas of—your persuasion?” she enquired cautiously.

      Richard Allard’s grey eyes opened very wide and, again, his expression grew grave.

      “Yes,” he replied, a trifle shortly, “as most gentlemen of Yorkshire are, but he is circumspect and does not pursue his views too actively.”

      She knew the unspoken rider to that was “as I and my father and your father do.”

      Her lips trembled as a little tingle of fear ran through her.

      When her mother returned and said meaningfully that it was getting late and the ladies should retire Anne was almost relieved to obey. She rose and curtsied and met her father on his way in through the screen doors as she left in her mother’s wake.

      Sir Guy poured more wine for his guest when they were left alone together.

      “How long can you stay this time, Dickon?”

      “No more than two days then I must be on my way again.”

      “To London?” The finely arched brows rose interrogatively.

      Richard Allard nodded and drained his wine cup. “Yes. You will have heard that Warbeck was rearrested in June after some attempt to escape and now is confined in the Tower—with the Earl of Warwick?”

      Sir Guy drew his chair closer. His son, Ned, had already been dispatched to bed and he had given his servants instructions not to disturb him further tonight. Even so he was careful to keep his voice low when talking of such inherently treasonable matters with his friend’s son.

      “You think he may be too close?”

      Richard Allard sighed. Sir Guy had again refilled his wine cup and he swirled it slowly, moodily, watching the firelight glow in the bloodlike depths.

      “It would be preferable, for both their sakes, if they were kept strictly apart.”

      “Surely Henry will be aware of that and take steps to see that that is done?”

      “Yet, if there is danger in such contact with Warbeck, that might prove profitable for Henry.”

      Sir Guy sat bolt upright. “You mean he would have an excuse to rid himself of the Earl? Over the years he must have longed to do so. The late King’s nephew has so clear a claim to the throne that it must be a constant thorn to Henry’s peace of mind.”

      “Precisely.” Richard stared down at his boots and stirred his feet restlessly.

      “I go to keep an eye on things, nothing more. If it proves necessary to try to extricate the Earl…” He shrugged. “I pray heaven there is no such need.”

      “You are known at Court?”

      “I have never attended since I served King Richard as a page before Redmoor but, like you, as my father’s son, I need to remain discreet. I intend to be back in Yorkshire at Christmas. My sister Anne will be delivered then. You know she miscarried a child two years ago and was very ill. She is now recovered and happy about the impending birth but, naturally, we are all anxious for her.”

      “Your mother in particular.” Sir Guy nodded. He hesitated. “You are still unwed, Dickon?”

      Richard inclined his head smilingly.

      “No romantic entanglements?”

      “Oh, plenty.” The young man laughed. “I have thought myself in love many times, particularly when I was young but—I have never deemed it politic to offer marriage to any woman and I am still heart whole.”

      Sir Guy supped his wine. “I imagine your mother has pressed you to take a wife—for the succession if nothing else.”

      “My father understands well my reasons. Like you, we find managing the desmesne is difficult under straitened circumstances. What have I to offer a maid?”

      “Strength, youth, good health and you are not un-comely.”

      Richard Allard laughed heartily. “I am no longer so young, sir.”

      “How old are you, Dickon, now, twenty-five, -six?”

      “Twenty-seven,” the other replied with a rueful shrug.

      “I was almost your age when I wed my Margaret.”

      “An arranged marriage?”

      “We had been betrothed five years earlier but her father broke off the arrangement. He wished her to marry one of Dorset’s gentlemen but the fellow died. She was about to enter into a new betrothal when King Edward died and her father’s fortunes were altered. King Richard saw to it that I was given my bride.”

      “Against her will?”

      Sir Guy pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps so, at first, but afterwards we realised our love for each other. Our marriage, like your father’s, has been totally successful. Margaret has given me her complete support. Her love and loyalty have never faltered, despite our difficulties over the years since Redmoor.” He paused and then said deliberately, “At one time your father and I considered a contract between you and my Anne.”

      Richard Allard turned bright grey eyes upon his host. “Aye, I know, and—and I would be very honoured, yet I am old for the lass. She must be sixteen or near-abouts.”

      “In a few weeks, and mature for her age.” Sir Guy frowned. “Lately she has been restless, fretting against her exile from what she considers the hub of events. Of course, I am relieved that she is—only, I also know she will soon be ripe for the marriage bed and I am anxious to see her settled.” He shrugged. “After all, who knows what the future will bring to any of us?”

      “I said I would be honoured, sir, but…”

      “You do not find Anne attractive?”

      The grey eyes lit up. “I find her enchanting. She has her mother’s beauty and a combination of yours and Lady Jarvis’s sprightly make-up. It is just that—my duty leads me into dubious business. Were I free to consider marriage I would request her hand.” He broke off, staring into the fire’s bright heart. “You must know, Sir Guy, how deeply our womenfolk suffer when we are engaged in dangerous work. I would not risk either the security or the happiness of Mistress Anne while I am committed elsewhere than in Wensleydale.”

      Sir Guy sighed again regretfully and nodded in agreement.

      He decided to change a subject which could be embarrassing for his guest. He said quietly, “You saw this Warbeck at close quarters—often?”

      “Not often.” Richard Allard’s tone was wary as if he guessed at the other’s next question. “You are about to ask if I believe that his pretensions are genuine?”

      “Yes.”

      Richard shook his head. “I wish I could answer that squarely. I just do not know. I saw him quite close once or twice. Certainly he resembles both the late King Edward and Queen Elizabeth, his wife. That likeness is quite uncanny. Were it otherwise I would have dismissed his claims out of hand for, to be frank, sir, he does not appear to have that about his character that would make me accept him as a son of King Edward, for all my father