Dangerous Sanctuary Read online

  ALSO BY MICHELLE DIENER

  In a Treacherous Court

  Gallery Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Diener

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Gallery Books ebook edition February 2012

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  ISBN 978–1–4516–7845–1 (Print)

  ISBN 978-1-4516-7845-1 (eBook)

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  CONTENTS

  Dangerous Sanctuary

  Keeper of the King’s Secrets (excerpt)

  Don’t forget

  to click through after

  DANGEROUS SANCTUARY

  for an exclusive sneak peek

  at Michelle Diener’s next scintillating novel

  KEEPER OF THE KING’S SECRETS

  DANGEROUS SANCTUARY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Susanna came back to the world like a swimmer breeching the water’s surface to draw breath, pulling herself from the hold of her work.

  She shifted on the hard church bench and set down her charcoal and parchment, stretching her legs and tipping back her head to ease her neck. As she straightened, she looked down the length of Paul’s walk, the long nave that ran the length of St. Paul’s Cathedral, eyes burning with strain from sketching so long in the dim light.

  She’d arrived early in the morning, when there was almost no one else within the cathedral, but now, as midday approached, it was becoming more crowded.

  Usually, the booksellers would move in, taking over the nave to set up their tables, and the newsmongers would stroll up and down the length of the walk for the latest gossip and news in London, but not today.

  Today the King’s procession through London from Bridewell would end here, in a ceremony of thanks to God for the capture of the French king, Francis I, and the death of the Yorkist Pretender, Richard de la Pole.

  It had taken the King’s fancy—late last night, deep into making merry with his courtiers—to have a commemoration of today’s occasion. A painting of the ceremony.

  A page had been sent to knock on her door, waking Susanna and her betrothed, Parker, in the early hours to inform her of her new commission.

  And so she sat now, sketching the main altar from which the Cardinal Wolsey would say the Sarum rite. She had come as early as the light would allow, drawing the background so she could focus on the King and Wolsey when the ceremony began. Her fingers were stiff and cold from capturing the intricate, soaring interior of the church in the freezing March air.

  Susanna turned her head and looked at the crowd that was starting to gather. They would have to move back from the main altar, she supposed, when the King arrived. But for now, they could gawk at the decorations the priests were erecting in preparation for the royal arrival.

  A man, a courtier judging by the velvet of his dress, caught her eye. He brought to mind a cat, sleek and predatory, as he made his way down the long walk.

  There was a pent-up anger in him, transmitting itself in the sharp way he moved his head from side to side as he walked, and in the way his hands were fisted tight against his thighs.

  He was looking for someone.

  He headed toward the east end of the nave, in the direction of the magnificent stained glass circular window she had been itching to sketch, but as the crowds thinned out at that end and he did not find the person he was searching for, he turned and stalked back toward her.

  The massive window distracted her, as it had since she’d arrived, and she lifted her eyes from him up to it again. She knew she could lose herself in reproducing it. She had seen fine examples of stained glass before. Her father had designed the cartoons for many, but she had never seen anything of this scale and workmanship. It was breathtaking.

  And it would have to wait.

  She was cold and hungry, and wondered if she had time to slip home for a bite and a little time in front of a fire before the procession reached the cathedral.

  A thin, icy breeze from the entrance snaked through the nave and puffed a frigid, incense-laden breath down the back of her neck. It made up her mind. She shivered and stepped into Paul’s walk, carefully rolling her sketch and slipping it into her satchel.

  As she walked to the door, the talk around her was of the procession and the promised free drink that would be provided in the streets. The roads would be almost impassable as the crowds of London took advantage of the King’s good humor. She hoped they were clear enough now to make it worth her while going home.

  “Where have you been?”

  Susanna’s step faltered until she realized the harsh, low hiss was not for her.

  Near the door, in the shadows, the courtier she’d watched earlier stood close to another man, crowding him back against an elaborately carved bench.

  “I told you, I can’t help you. We don’t have an agreement.” His companion edged closer to the entrance. He was tall, as tall as Parker, and as broad in the shoulders. Like Parker he had a way of holding himself, in perfect control of his body. He wore the green and white of the King’s Yeoman of the Guard, the King’s bodyguards. The head of his halberd gleamed in the weak daylight from the open door.

  “You renege?” The courtier’s fists tightened.

  “Quiet.” The guard barely held his voice above a whisper, and then took a shuddering breath. “Every sharp-eyed gossip in London is here. You are as mad as I suspected.” He stopped abruptly, his lips held tight as he noticed Susanna.

  He watched her walk past them and through the massive double doors to the churchyard in silence. The back of her neck pricked, and she was sure they were staring after her as she slipped out.

  She braced herself as she closed the door behind her and took the full brunt of the wind. It tugged at her cloak, billowing it around her, ripping at her cap like a hasty lover.

  As she reached the top step, she stopped, a burst of warmth that had nothing to do with the weak sun suddenly leaping within. Parker was coming across the churchyard toward her.

  He moved with his usual efficient grace, and she was struck anew at the wonder that he was hers. Her betrothed. Her lover. She had traced every sharp angle of his face with her fingers. With her lips.

  She smiled, and cared not at all if the whole world saw what it revealed.

  He reached the first of the shallow steps up to the cathedral door, caught her eye, and smiled back.

  At that moment, as their eyes met in a flash of heat, the courtier she’d noticed before burst out of the door and knocked into her, pushing past her, down the stairs.

>   She cried out, stumbled and fell straight into Parker’s arms.

  He caught her easily and set her down. The eyes he turned toward the man as he ran into the street beyond were hard.

  Curious, she looked back at the cathedral door and saw the guard standing just outside it, his eyes as hard as Parker’s as he watched his companion flee.

  Parker followed her gaze and raised his brows as he noticed the man. “Halliwell.”

  The guard turned to Parker at his call and froze, his face draining of all color as he recognzied him. Then his gaze shifted to Susanna, to how Parker’s arm still loosely circled her, and he pushed back against the door of the cathedral, fear sitting oddly on so strong a man.

  Parker cast her a quick, quizzical glance.

  “He was talking with the man who bumped into me—” she began, when Halliwell, still using the wall to support himself, stumbled down the stairs.

  Then he turned and braced himself with both hands, and was sick.

  “What is it?” Susanna’s soft murmur drew nothing but a groan from Halliwell, but Parker suspected he did not deserve any sympathy.

  True, the circumstances were far from obvious, but the way Halliwell had reacted when Susanna began to tell him who Halliwell had been with in the cathedral was more enlightening than a thousand words.

  “Let me guess. Geoffrey Pole is up to something and you’re involved. What does he intend to do?” Parker stood just out of Halliwell’s range, in case he decided to be sick again.

  Susanna frowned. “Who is Geoffrey Pole?”

  Parker kept his eyes on Halliwell. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he no longer trusted the guard, especially not near Susanna. “The man who knocked you off the steps.” He leaned a shoulder against the cathedral wall. “And the King’s cousin.”

  “I knew I was good as dead. Soon as I saw you.” Halliwell straightened and looked at Parker with hopeless eyes. “That mad idiot is going to try and destroy the King, and himself and his family along with him, and ’cause your lady saw us together, the finger will go straight to me. And I didn’t do anything. I told him I wouldn’t help him.”

  “Let’s start with the most important thing. What does he plan to do?”

  Halliwell shrugged, listless. “I don’t kn—”

  Parker had him up against the wall, with a forearm to his throat, before he finished the sentence. He kept his voice even. “Now I may be willing to believe your story, but I won’t shield you if you could have told me something and the King is harmed. So I’ll ask you again, what does Pole intend to do?”

  Halliwell was a big man, and a trained guard, but he did not try to fight free. His face told Parker he had given up, and for the first time since this strange episode began, Parker felt worry curl in his gut.

  “I heard you.” Susanna stepped closer. “I heard you say you wouldn’t help him. And I will say that in a hearing on your behalf.”

  Halliwell turned to look at her, his mouth slack with surprise. Parker’s betrothed had that effect on people.

  Parker gave a small smile. He pulled his arm away, and Halliwell sagged against the wall.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Halliwell straightened, and when he lifted his gaze to Parker’s, it was calmer. “I truly don’t know what he plans, but he wanted to know how many guards the King would have, and if there was any point on the procession’s route where His Majesty would be more vulnerable.”

  “How is it he thought you would help him?” Parker could not believe Pole would approach just any Yeoman of the Guard, no matter how far down the slope of madness he’d slipped.

  “My family rents land from his older brother. We’ve known each other for years. I was put forward for the guards by his brother Arthur while he was the King’s esquire of the body.” Halliwell closed his eyes. “At Geoffrey’s request, I arranged to take the advance guard duty at St. Paul’s today. To start clearing the crowds before the King arrived. I knew he meant to ask me a favor, but I did not realize . . .” He shook his head. “This all damns me further.”

  “No.” Parker spoke slowly. “If my lady heard you say you would not help, despite the ties and loyalties you owe his family, then you will hear no word from me about Pole’s approach.”

  Halliwell turned to look at him. Then his gaze fell on Susanna and he bowed low. “I wished you far away when you passed so near us, my lady, but now I am very grateful you did.”

  “Did Pole say where he was going?” Parker noted the gates of the churchyard were getting more crowded. Tracking Pole in the streets would be almost impossible.

  “No. He accused me of betraying his family, then he ran. If he still intends carrying out what he had in mind, he may have gone to Bridewell, to wait for the procession to start.”

  “Why would Geoffrey Pole wish the King ill?” Susanna asked.

  Parker fingered the hilt of his sword, still searching the crowd. “Pole isn’t just cousin to the King. He has another cousin—Richard de la Pole. Because of their claim on the throne, the King’s father crushed the Poles and the de la Poles from the moment he became King and made sure they stayed under his boot. Even though Henry has been far kinder to both families than his father ever was, Richard de la Pole’s death is the reason the King celebrates today. Perhaps, for Geoffrey, this is the last insult to his family he can stomach.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It seemed a long time since Susanna made the decision to go home, to eat and warm up in the house she shared with Parker on Crooked Lane.

  And she was still no further than the churchyard at St. Paul’s, although at least she’d been able to buy a pie from one of the pie sellers hawking their wares through the crowd. She bit into it, and though it was almost cold, immediately felt better as the flavors of beef and gravy filled her mouth.

  Halliwell stood with her, a huge barrier at the cathedral door, his halberd firm in his hand.

  He appeared far different from the man who earlier had clung, vomiting, to the cathedral walls. His face was the set, emotionless stone she’d grown accustomed to seeing on the King’s guards.

  “You can’t clear the cathedral and stop people entering by yourself.” Susanna saw the crowd below the steps was none too pleased with being denied access. No one had approached the door since Halliwell had taken position, but they muttered and shot disgruntled looks at him.

  “I arrived earlier than the others to meet Pole, and put him off. At least another nine guards will be coming to help, but I may as well start by letting no more people in.”

  “The King will still have to make his way through the churchyard, though,” Susanna said. “How will the Guards manage that?”

  “They’ll push people away by force, if they have to.” Halliwell gave a smile that was pure steel. “Anyone who gets too close, gets shoved.”

  And someone who may want to get too close was Geoffrey Pole.

  “Do you think Pole capable of harming the King, when it comes down to it?”

  Halliwell lifted his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the crowd. “I would have said no. He has so much to lose. And his family even more so. His mother is chief lady-in-waiting to the Princess Mary. If Pole is caught trying something today, she would never be able to see the princess again, and I know from my contact with the family that would be a wrench for her. She is also a close friend of the Queen. That friendship would end, and put the Queen in a difficult position, besides. And then there’s Pole’s oldest brother, Montague. He would surely lose what family lands the King returned to him, after the King’s father took them all away. He may well be imprisoned in the Tower, as the eldest and closest to the throne.” Halliwell’s grip on his halberd tightened. “Pole is not acting rationally if he plans to endanger his entire family and their future.”

  Susanna hugged herself against the wind and hoped Parker would find Pole and talk him out of whatever plan he may have concocted in his anger with the King. She could see nothing but tragedy if he were to go ahead.r />
  But standing here would not hasten Parker’s return, and she could work a little more, perhaps even have time to start on the circular window.

  She slipped back into the cathedral and took a place near the main altar, removing her sketch and charcoal from her satchel.

  There was an air of anticipation among the people still within the church. More priests had appeared and a number of them were wearing robes made from cloth of gold.

  She heard voices behind her at the door, and hoping it was Parker, turned. John Rightwise, the deviser of court revels, stepped into the nave with his choir in tow.

  As he came nearer, he blanched at the sight of her, averting his eyes and shuffling past as if she were dangerous. Susanna had no memory of him, but she knew he remembered her. Remembered how he had let one of the Duke of Norfolk’s men carry her away while she lay senseless on the floor of his choir room at Greenwich Palace. Parker had taken pains to point him out to her with the warning never to trust him.

  The choir he brought with him today was not comprised of young boys, as it had been that day at Greenwich, but of monks.

  They stared at her, curious at Rightwise’s reaction, and she studied them back. If they got into place, she could include them in the sketch now.

  They moved past in a tight crowd and she tried to estimate their number, get an impression of faces for the painting.

  And her heart did a slow roll in her chest.

  Because at the back of the group, looking uncomfortable in his stolen monks’ robes, was Geoffrey Pole.

  Susanna pretended sudden interest in the priests preparing the altar, turning away from the choir.

  She waited until they had gone past, then looked again. Pole had his back to her, but he was still with Rightwise’s group. She noted the nearness of the choir stalls to the main altar, and a terrible chill danced down her spine.

  If Rightwise did not notice him as an imposter and throw him out, Geoffrey Pole would be in the perfect position to attack the King.