Bedding the Enemy (2 page)

That was entirely possible.

Her brother was like many men, in that he didn't believe women might be clever. She walked silently, gliding around the edges of the garden. The sound of laughter was infectious because it was honest for a change. Not the theatrics often heard at court. The new queen was still getting settled into her new home and often didn't post guards around herself. A pair of burly Scots eyed her when she came closer. Helena lowered herself gracefully and deeply, remaining there.

“Yes? What do you want?” Queen Anne sounded mildly annoyed to have her time with her children interrupted.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. The sound of the children drew me forward. I but longed for the view of innocence.”

The queen smiled, her mother's joy evident.

“Who are you?”

“Helena Knyvett, Your Majesty.”

The queen's maids all watched her, but the guards dismissed her and returned to watching the archways for possible trouble.

“I feel we should all learn from children how to truly enjoy a spring morning.” Anne of Denmark cast a loving look at her children. She looked up, surprising Helena because she hadn't expected the queen to desire a response from her. Court was full of powerful people who wanted to have their opinion heard and nothing else.

“That is very true, your majesty….”

The queen smiled. Helena found herself caught between two emotions. The children were a delight for her senses. They didn't know how to be calculating yet, hadn't learned about the sharper side of life. But she cringed as well because her brother was no doubt pleased with her now. Wherever he was hiding, she'd bet his mouth was curved up into a sneer. It was an expression she knew too well. That certainly made things much simpler for her, but she detested his schemes.

Still, the afternoon was nice and she had also learned to enjoy the moments that she might. All too soon her family would issue another demand. Such was the life of a nobleman's daughter. In truth, it was the fate of all children, even dictated by Scripture. Many said that even to think against your place was to question the will of God.

Helena didn't believe that. Fine, that made her a poor Christian, but it did not mean her dimwitted. She had a mind and didn't let it grow dusty. There was one thing that court had that she adored; a library to rival any in the entire country. Even more, there were learned men who longed for an interested ear and didn't care if that ear belonged to a woman. She spent hours in the library; the rows of books and instruments of science had become her haven. Even better was the laboratory that Dr. John Dee had begun during the old queen's reign. His students continued his work and sometimes she was allowed to watch silently.

“Helena, come join us in my chambers.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Queen Anne picked up her son, the young prince clutching her strand of pearls and popping them into his mouth. The princess Elizabeth skipped happily alongside Raelin McKorey, their hands clasped.

Helena followed the queen along with a party of maids of honor, ladies-in-waiting, senior maids, and royal guards. She didn't seem to notice them at all, flowing gracefully in her silk gown while her son chewed on a string of pearls worth a fortune. Anne had been born a princess of Denmark, and she was completely at ease being the center of so much scurry and scrutiny.

Helena had learned to live amidst it as well. She followed her queen into the royal chambers. Everything was lavish but not overly so. The former queen had enjoyed good craftsmanship, too, and many of the carvings in the woodwork were from the days when Elizabeth had hungered for art and commissioned some of the most talented men in the world to bring their craft to England. Theater, painting, and even glass blowing had become English arts under her rein, promoting the growth of the middle class.

Musicians began to play, hidden somewhere behind a tapestry. The walls were inset with carvings that were gilded and painted beautiful colors. Water flowed in one of the outside foundations, the open windows allowing the soothing sound inside.

“Do you enjoy music, Lady Helena?”

Raelin McKorey asked the question, while holding the young princess happily playing atop a wooden rocking horse. It was fashioned with a sidesaddle and a silken mane.

“Yes.”

The maid of honor came closer. “Do you play any instruments?”

“Yes, my father had me tutored in mandolin and the virginals.” Her father had considered music a necessary skill in a lady of the court.

Raelin smiled. “My father did as well, but I am atrocious.” A slight Gaelic accent clung to her words, making the girl sound unique.

“I doubt that.”

“Do not, I swear it is true.” Raelin laughed. “But dinna ye mind, no one is skilled at everything.”

The girl's Scottish brogue was charming. Helena found herself enjoying it. Court had more Scots now that James Stuart was king, but to date she had only heard male voices speaking in the brogue. One of the other maids was listening in. She was a golden blonde with blue eyes that shimmered. She leaned in so that her words would not carry.

“Just make sure you dinnae play cards with Raelin unless you enjoy losing. Her brother taught her how to play like a privateer. She pillages everyone at the table.”

Raelin shrugged, a very odd gesture coupled with her formal, gold, maid of honor gown. “This is Catriona McAlister and she thinks that my brother Alarik taught me to play cards. I would hate to correct her; it might destroy her confidence.”

Catriona snorted softly. She cast a look about to make sure their conversation was not being listened to. “He did and didna tell me he didna. Yer brother is more privateer than not.”

“My maids seem to have taken a liking to you, Lady Helena.”

The queen's voice silenced Raelin and Catriona instantly. She turned to look at them with a knowing eye. “Perhaps you would entertain us with your knowledge of the virginals.”

Queen Anne pointed toward a lavishly painted instrument. A maid instantly folded back the wood cover to expose the white and black keys.

“I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

A somewhat surprised look crossed the queen's face but it was replaced by a pleased expression. Helena swept her skirts forward and the maid pushed the small bench seat beneath her. It was all done in a graceful motion that would have made her mother proud. The hours of practicing court manners she'd dictated for her daughter were paying off.

Helena took a moment to remove her gloves. Every ear was poised and waiting on her first few notes. It was a test of her honesty more than a true desire to hear her play. The hidden musicians had stopped to allow her to become the center of attention. But it was a challenge Helena was prepared for. Setting her gloves aside, she placed her fingertips lightly on top of the mother-of-pearl-covered keys. She began the first passages of “Greensleeves” and felt the tension in the room dissipate. Her confidence grew as the song progressed. Her music was not something her brother might use; it was a thing that lived inside her heart. She was never so happy as she was when bringing a sprightly song to life in the air. Her mood only turned somber when she struck the last notes and the virginals quieted.

Soft applause came from the queen and her maids. Even the princess Elizabeth clapped but stopped quickly to grab onto the top of her horse, which was rocking back and forth.

“Delightful, Helena. I am pleasantly impressed.”

Helena rose and curtsied low.

“None of that here in my private rooms. Sit and play. Something happy.” The queen herself sat in a wide, brocade-covered chair. Two of her maids brought her sewing basket to her. Raelin carried over a length of cream linen that was half sewn into a man's shirt. Helena was slightly stunned.

The queen smiled at her. “Yes, I make my husband's shirts just like any other wife.”

Helena cast her eyes away, her cheeks coloring for having been caught gaping like an unpolished girl. To make a man's shirts was considered a sign of affection.

Deep affection.

“How long have you been at court, Helena?”

The queen's question startled her. Helena raised her attention back to her monarch. “A year, Your Majesty.”

“And yet you still blush. I find that promising.”

Helena turned and sat back on the bench. Her hands began moving on the keys before she really considered what she was going to play. Her memory offered up a soft melody.

Oh, she understood what the queen was hinting at….

But at the same time she was annoyed. There was so much dishonesty around her. Arriving at court had been the completion of years of practice and preparation. As far back as she might recall, all of her energy had been directed toward the moment when she would begin her days among the nobles and ambassadors of England's court.

Disillusionment hurt. It was the cruelest sort of pain—one that dug into her like a dull knife. Each day she found it harder to scrape together enough hope to face the ritual of dressing. It took over an hour and that was considered quite modest. But sitting for her face paint and hair styling nearly drove her insane. What was wrong with the color of her skin? She didn't understand why it needed so many powders and colors applied. Her own mother wouldn't recognize her. Such makeup hadn't been a part of her training.

Her fingers finished the song but she paused for a moment. Her gaze settled on Raelin McKorey and the fact that the girl wasn't wearing the heavy face paint that the rest of the court clung to. The Scottish girl noticed her stare, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. The queen was working her needle but chatting with two of her older ladies-in-waiting.

“Forgive me for staring.”

Fingering the keys, Helena tried to force her mind back to the music. Raelin moved closer, her skirts rustling.

“Were ye staring at my scar? If so, simply ask.” There was a hint of unhappiness in the girl's tone. “I deplore the way everyone stares at it and then pretends it isna there.”

“Oh…no. Not at all. I was noticing how little face powder you use.” Helena's fingers went still on the keys. She looked at the scar now. “Honestly, it's not that big of a scar. Which was why I was noticing how little paint you wear. This makeup would cover it up completely if you wished to conceal it.”

Raelin studied her for a long moment. The musicians began playing now that Helena had paused.

“Why do you wear it?” Raelin studied her face. “It sounds like you dinnae care for it.”

Helena sighed. It was a tiny sound that slipped past the years of training. Raelin's face looked like freedom. She simply couldn't help looking at it.

“My family expects me to conduct myself according to court dictates.”

Raelin winkled her nose. “It doesna suit ye to paint yer face like the old queen did.” She suddenly smiled. “I know, we shall redo it. Catriona is very good with face powders.”

Raelin reached for Helena's hand and tugged her up. The maid scurried in and pulled the little bench out from beneath her skirts.

“What are you two about?” The queen looked over her sewing at them.

Raelin curtsied. “Helena wants to try wearing less face paint. I thought I might help her.”

The rest of the ladies and maids of honor waited to see what the queen would say. Her face was smooth for a long moment before she smiled approvingly.

“I think that's an excellent idea. I don't understand these English families painting up their daughters to look like an old queen. You are a girl and should look more like one.”

The other maids of honor all smiled. They skipped to the edges of the chamber, returning with several items. Helena didn't know where to look first. Raelin sat her down on a wide padded bench. Another girl shook out a wide piece of sheeting and draped it over Helena's shoulders to protect her expensive court dress.

“Let's clean this off first.” Raelin sounded so enthusiastic, as if she were about to begin some work of art, her fellow maids of honor all joining in the moment. Helena suppressed a tiny lament. This was what friends felt like. She felt their hands on her, wiping her face clean. Her skin tingled, enjoying the freedom.

Catriona opened a wooden box that had little trays that lifted out. Carefully sorted in the trays were powders and expensive horse-hair brushes. Two other maids of honor surveyed what was on hand. Their eyes sparkled with enjoyment but they pushed their lips into thin lines while they concentrated.

“You have such lovely eyes.” Raelin finished removing the last of the white powder from her face. “I don't believe I've ever seen a dark-haired girl with green eyes.”

“My grandmother was half French.”

The girls all leaned in to listen, one of them pulling on her hair to release the high rolls it was formed into. As big as her fist, padded rolls were pinned beneath her hair. The girls removed them and replaced them with much smaller ones.

Raelin selected a brush and fluttered it against a cake of powder. She smiled and applied the first stroke to Helena's cheek. The afternoon seemed to fly by because Helena was enjoying it so much. When Raelin was at last satisfied with her makeup, she carefully replaced all of the brushes and powders before allowing Helena to see her reflection.

“I hope ye approve.”

The girl's brogue intensified when she was nervous. Helena didn't wait to really absorb what she looked like; she smiled brightly at Raelin the moment she got a glimpse of her face. It didn't matter if she liked the new style or not. Edmund would make her wear it to endear herself to the maids of honor among whom he hoped to place her.

At Raelin McKorey's expense.

Helena swallowed her distaste. There was little point in regretting one of Edmund's schemes. Her brother had scores of them. Far better to hope that he might lose interest or be satisfied that she had found some favor with the queen without his assistance.