“Actually, Your Grace, you probably write nothing at all that he does not read,” he emphasizes. “He probably sees every letter that comes and goes, however clever you think you have been with your secret couriers and number codes and invisible ink.”

I turn my head away from him to indicate my irritation. “I have no state secrets,” I say flatly. “I must be allowed to write to my friends and family.”

“And Ridolfi?” he asks suddenly.

I hold my face quite still. I do not show the smallest flicker of recognition. He could stare at me as if I were a portrait and he still would not see my secret. “I know nothing of any... Ridolfi,” I say as if the name is strange to me. “I know nothing of any letters.”

“I beg of you,” Morton says awkwardly, all flushed with sincerity and embarrassment at being forced to call a lady and a queen a downright liar. “I will not quibble with you over who you know or who you write to. I am not a spy. I am not here to entrap you. Your Grace, I am your true friend and I am here to make the arrangements to return you to Scotland and to your throne. And so I beg of you not to set any plots in motion, not to write to any conspirators, not to trust anyone but myself and Lord Shrewsbury here, and the Queen of England herself. We are all determined to see you returned to your throne. You have to be patient; but if you will be patient and honorable as the great queen that you are, then we will see you restored this year, perhaps this Easter.”

“This Easter?”

“Yes.”

“You give me your word?”

“Yes,” he says, and I believe him. “But will you give me yours?”

“My word?” I repeat icily.

“Your word, as a queen, that you will not plot with the enemies of England.”

I pause. He looks hopeful, as if my safe return to Scotland and all his plans are hanging on this moment. “Very well. I promise,” I say solemnly.

“Your word as a queen?”

“I give you my word as a queen,” I say firmly.

“You will not receive or send secret letters? You will not engage in any conspiracy against the peace of England?”

“I give you my word that I will not.”

Morton sighs and glances over at Shrewsbury as if he is much relieved. Shrewsbury comes closer and smiles at me. “I told you she would promise,” he says. “The queen is determined to return to her throne. She will deal with you and with all your loyal countrymen with spotless honor.”

SHEFFIELD CASTLE: GEORGE

MARCH, 1571