Hoogstraeten, on the border of the Netherlands

The letter reached Charles when he was surrounded by a room full of people: Sir Edward Hyde; Louis de Silva; several chaplains, courtiers and sundry servants.

The sealed letter was one of only several that had made their way to Charles from his land of birth that day, and it was the last that Charles had picked up. He broke the seal, paying the letter little mind as he laughed at some jest one of the courtiers made, then cast his eyes quickly over the contents.

He went still, horribly still, and his face paled.

“Majesty?” Hyde said, bending close.

Charles laid the letter against his chest so that Hyde could not read its contents.

“A sudden indisposition,” Charles said. “No more.”

“Do you need—” Hyde began.

“Some quiet, I think,” Charles said, and Hyde obediently turned and began to usher people from the royal presence.

“Louis, if you will…” Charles murmured, and Louis halted just inside the door, waited until Hyde had closed it behind himself, then walked back to Charles’ side.

“What is it?” Louis’ voice was tense.

Charles at first made no response, save to more diligently read the letter, then he handed it to Louis.

He noted without surprise the horror that spread across Louis’ face as he read.

“She’s carrying a child,” Louis whispered.

“We must act now,” said Charles. “To allow her to fall into Weyland’s hands while pregnant, or with a child in her arms…”

“Aye,” said Louis. The letter trembled a little in his hand, and he was about to speak again when the door to the chamber opened and closed. Both men jumped, but they relaxed as they saw Marguerite hurrying towards them.

“I heard…” she said, then her eyes fell on the letter in Louis’ hand, and she all but snatched it from him.

Her reaction was very different to that of the two men. A broad smile broke out across her face as she read the letter.

“How she must be pleased!” she said as, finally, she gave the letter back to Charles.

“Pleased?” Louis said. “That child…and the imp…and soon…”

“Weyland,” Charles said.

“The child will be a great comfort to her,” said Marguerite. “And what did you expect? Going to her and loving her? It is the way children are made.”

“I should go to her now,” said Charles.

“You can’t,” said Louis. “But I…”

“Neither of you can,” said Marguerite, and both men glanced at each other before as quickly looking away.

“I shall go to her,” Marguerite continued, “and Kate, for she is well enough after her daughter’s birth. Weyland shall never suspect our presence. He does not know of us. He does not suspect us. Charles, you may write to the Earl of Bedford, and ask him to expect us to stay. A small house in Woburn village, perhaps, will do well for Charles’ mistresses and whatever of their children they bring with them. I am sure the earl shall be glad to comply.”

“Yes, majesty,” said Charles wryly, but there was no amusement in his face, and when he looked back to Louis, there was nothing shared between the men but desperate worry.

“It is time,” said Marguerite softly, “that the first of Eaving’s Sisters returns to her side.”