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message on the same day that Anne Boleyn had met her death. The whole court was on edge, everyone watching everyone else. The chances of being followed and accused of some crime – perhaps even treason – were higher than ever. ‘What is the message I am to deliver?’
    Kate whispered it in her ear, and made her repeat it back. ‘Only be sure not to be overheard when you deliver it to Master Beaufort. Lord Wolf is still closely watched by the king’s spies.’ Kate’s smile was bitter. ‘Those highest in the king’s favour are also those he fears the most, it seems.’
    ‘I shall be careful.’
    ‘You have my thanks.’ Kate embraced her. ‘Now I must return to my husband. We’ll speak tomorrow.’
    Margerie bade her farewell, then fetched her shoes and a hooded cloak, for she suspected it would be best not to announce her identity too openly as she wandered the palace that night. Her red hair was too well known at court, she thought ruefully, tucking it away beneath the heavy hood. If her visit to Lord Wolf’s quarters was noted, her intimate history with him might mark her out as another to be suspected too.
     
    There was a terrible hush over the palace. She slipped through long, darkened corridors, the wall torches allowed to burn down as though most courtiers were expected to be abed at this hour. Though in truth it was not so very late at the court; most nights would still see noblemen carousing at this hour.
    There was a short man in a cloak leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching Lord Wolf’s apartments. She hesitated, then swept past him, her chin high, and knocked at the door. His gaze followed her, then he shrank back into the shadows.
    To her relief, it was Hugh who came to the door. ‘Mistress Croft?’ he asked, frowning. No doubt he knew her history with Wolf. He glanced back over his shoulder, then stepped outside into the corridor, pulling the door shut. ‘How may I help you, mistress?’
    ‘I have an urgent message for his lordship,’ she whispered, only too aware of the spy watching from the shadows.
    His eyes met hers, then he nodded slowly. ‘Not here,’ he muttered, then raised his voice. ‘You are looking for Lord Carlyle, you say? No, his lordship is not here, nor have I seen him. You have mistaken the room perhaps? His quarters are further along here . . . Come, let me escort you there.’
    She fell in with his pantomime, pretending to look grateful as they walked past the watching spy. ‘My thanks, Master Beaufort. I . . . I admit I mistook the room for Lord Carlyle’s apartments.’
    They came to the corner, passing out of the man’s sight, then Hugh Beaufort whisked her more swiftly along the next corridor. He was a tall man, she realised, just a little taller than her, and in truth a very handsome one, green-eyed like herself, with shining fair hair hidden beneath a black velvet cap.
    ‘I see the king’s spies are still watching us,’ he murmured, checking over his shoulder, but the corridor behind them was empty.
    ‘Forgive me, it was not my idea to come. My message is from Mistress Langley. She said it must be delivered tonight.’
    ‘I am glad you came then, regardless.’ He nodded towards a door set into an alcove. ‘Those are Lord Carlyle’s rooms, in case that spy is still watching when I leave.’
    She raised her eyebrows. ‘And what reason might I have for visiting a peer at this hour?’
    Hugh Beaufort grinned. ‘A lady of your skills? Come, Mistress Croft, I suspect you could think of a likely reason.’
    Heat rose in her cheeks, and she felt uncomfortable under his look of frank admiration. He meant no harm by the jest, she was sure. Nonetheless, she could not help wishing she were just a little less notorious at court.
    ‘Now, what is this message?’ he asked briskly.
    She glanced up and down the corridor, suddenly fearful that she had heard a rustle in the shadows. But there was nobody in sight.
    Leaning close, she whispered, ‘The king