The Virgin's Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

willing men who had been trained by his father, often alongside Stephen himself. Two weeks into training Edward Harrington arrived to act as Stephen’s second in command. Harrington had been the Duke of Exeter’s seneschal/steward/man-at-arms for years before Stephen’s birth, with a taciturnity surpassed only by his battlefield skills. After the expected period of discomfort in feeling that his father was watching over his shoulder, Stephen relaxed into the new relationship. A commander could not afford to scorn men of skill, and he knew Harrington would be invaluable in Ireland.
    The company rode out on the first day of August. When they left Stephen’s castle at Farleigh Hungerford, it was with laughter and teasing from those left behind, a sense of adventure among those marching, and Stephen was confident in the abilities of his 150 soldiers and glad to be finally on his way.
    His father had appeared at Farleigh Hungerford the last day, asking if he might ride with them to Bristol. In another man it might have been awkward and caused Stephen’s force a sense of split loyalties. But no one knew better than Dominic Courtenay how authority could be as much a matter of expectation as ability, and he would never interfere in his son’s command. At least not publicly.
    In the end, Stephen discovered, his father’s topic of discussion had little to do with military matters. They reached Bristol the afternoon of August first, with a ship prepared to take them on board the very next day. Stephen allowed his men to disperse with orders to be returned to their encampment by dark. Then he walked with his father along the Severn Estuary.
    “Any last words of advice?” Stephen was quick to ask. Better than having it offered without asking.
    “Be careful with Oliver Dane. He’s an old Irish hand who dislikes English interlopers as much as he does the Irish rebels. As long as you make clear you are not interested in encroaching on his Irish lands or rights, you should be all right.”
    Stephen huffed a laugh. “I hardly feel I deserve what I have in England—I shall make clear to Captain Dane that Ireland is not in my ambitions.”
    “What are your ambitions?”
    “Personally or professionally?”
    “There is little difference between them for a belted earl. Since you were twelve we’ve received many overtures of interest from good families with daughters.”
    “You’re not planning to marry me off already, are you?”
    “And if we were? I must confess, Stephen, I haven’t the slightest idea how you would take it if I announced one day that I had secured you a marriage.”
    How
would
he take it? Stephen wondered. He hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking of marriage—twenty-one was indeed young. “I suppose I would thank you for your concern.”
    “Don’t look so stricken, son. Surely you don’t seriously expect your mother and me to arrange you a marriage without your knowledge or consent.”
    No, he supposed not. Other sons of dukes would expect to be dutifully wed wherever their family required. But the children of the Duke and Duchess of Exeter were, first and foremost, the children of a love match, one that had defied royalty and endured prison. They would not balk at the thought of love—after all, Lucie had married her French Catholic spy against all good sense. But his sister had also walked through a valley of pain and sorrow to get there. Stephen wasn’t sure it was worth it.
    “Honestly, Father, it might be simpler if you chose for me. And don’t tell me Mother doesn’t have some very specific ideas of her own,” he teased.
    “It’s not marriage we’re concerned with at the moment, Stephen. It’s the women that you will encounter in Ireland. I have campaigned more than once in my lifetime. I know what happens in the camps of soldiers.”
    How on earth was he supposed to respond to that?
Do tell, Father, what were you like on campaign?
Surely there had been women before his mother—she was