‘The question is, would they come after Don Pedro? Is there any need?’ said Álvaraz.

‘His bastard half-brother would rather see him dead, that’s one reason. Another is the French would like to see me dead with him.’ Blackstone tossed away the stone. ‘They’ll come.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Velasquita watched Blackstone’s men go about their duties. They still looked no better than brigands but their swagger and contempt for pain and discomfort set them apart from other men. They often seemed close to brawling among themselves and she did not understand the insulting taunts they threw at each other, which often ended in laughter rather than violence. They were unlike the other Englishman, Ranulph de Hayle, a man easily bought, whose violence simmered skin deep, easily restrained through fear of the unknown. And to him, she was the unknown. That was not the case with Thomas Blackstone. His was a controlled violence that wielded ruthlessness when necessary.

She had used her guile to tempt him but it was Blackstone who had been the master in bed. She feared he could look into her as she did with others. He tempered his passion when they lay together, a man used to taking the lead in all things and whose relentless nature saw where and when to strike a floundering opponent. He was no different with her. When she thought she had heightened his pleasure and controlled the release of his passion, Blackstone held back and it was she who succumbed to the overwhelming tide that rendered her momentarily helpless.

She trembled. What caused her tremor? Was it the thought of his scarred body lying next to hers or the rising excitement as the vision of his death became ever clearer? To kill a man like Thomas Blackstone was no easy feat, but the devil had gifted him to her. She needed no soothsayer to interpret her dream’s scattered images; the vision was as obvious as wiping steam from a window pane and seeing what lay beyond. It would not be long until Blackstone shuddered in death, helpless from her poison. Until then there were others who would die. When her journey with the King ended, Ranulph de Hayle would continue to do her bidding. She had already planned her escape. The final twist of fate that entrapped Blackstone and made him pursue her to his death had not yet been revealed to her. But that was just a small detail.

She noticed an urchin boy, a servant with one of Blackstone’s men. De Hayle had told her that Blackstone was protecting the witness to the Queen’s murder, but when de Hayle had searched the stables at Burgos, there had been no sign of the boy he’d captured when he fought the Bretons. So who was this lad she watched fetching and carrying? She turned to one of the King’s servants.

‘That boy. Do you see him?’

‘My lady,’ said the servant, acknowledging her.